From early spring to late autumn, Mingan hunted, hiked, and explored the Sierra Nevadas. The fact that Sitala had counted on him to be on hand to deal with this, whatever it was, irritated him. He didn't appreciate his sister making decisions for him. Though, he supposed if she had told him, he'd have avoided this end of the mountain range entirely. Sitala knew him well, and it was perhaps this subtle sort of manipulation that bothered him most.

It was a long trek to the source of the power surge. More than long enough for the Bear Clan to close in on it first if they were indeed here. How they could have learned of this gate prior to its opening nagged at him. The Tutelar had obtained all the known seers, oracles and prophets. They were valuable, and closely guarded. Not only that, this region of foothills was out of the Bears' normal range. The band of Bears he knew to frequent this area were not much for the mountains. The profitable cities and surrounding farmlands were more their style. He prayed they had only sent a few underlings. He had no interest in coming up against their leader, Wakinu.

Hayeta was no doubt half-way there already. Lokni circled back, black feathers glinting against the multicolored sunset sky. He cawed his disapproval. Mingan had not shifted as his younger colleagues had, despite the advantage of speed it might have given him. It was his one small act of defiance in the face of this forced call to action. The young, verging on reckless duo would go ahead, scope out the situation and hang back if they needed his expertise. If he was lucky, they would have things wrapped up before he even arrived on the scene.

Mingan was no stranger to the hunt, though roaming was his preference. He would have preferred not to get involved in this particular hunt if it wasn't for the nagging sense of duty to his family and the fact that if he didn't step in and work on occasion, there were consequences. Once the Tutelar had labeled a Mythic as one of theirs, they didn't forget. Mingan often skirted the edge of becoming a liability. This job, unexpected as it was, might buy him a few more months of freedom.

As he neared the source, he realized he was a good number of miles closer to the nearest pack station than he preferred. It was late August, deer season was in full swing. He had not seen any trace of hunters during the long weeks he had spent hiking through the virtually untouched alpine woods, but he knew they were there. Mortal hunters would not be a welcome addition to the mix of stray magic and the unpredictable nature of the Bear Clan.

The gate had closed by the time he reached it, leaving only the faintest glimmer of a seam in the space between worlds. It was clear from the hum of foreign magic that still permeated the area that something, or someone had come through. He knelt, checking the trail. The creature in question wasn't large. By the tracks, it seemed to be human, at least in shape.

The entire area had been disturbed, wind-blown and trampled. A scrap of paper stuck to a branch only added to the mystery. He examined the yellowed piece of parchment, a few words scrawled in fading ink sent a chill down his spine. He recognized the language, even if he didn't understand the words. The writing was an archaic script used by the Ethereal, a people not welcome in this world. A cry in the distance jarred him from his thoughts.

Gate breaches accounted for a great deal of bloody legends and tales of monsters. It was one of the many reasons the Tutelar kept seekers like Mingan, Hayeta and Lokni on call. Hopefully they wouldn't have a massacre to cover up once this creature had been dealt with.

He shoved the scrap into his pocket, spurred into a run.