Birds in a cage never knew the true nature of the wilderness. And the die has been cast. They can go home, but duty binds them. The riders ride hard for whatever clue they have found in Domee. Every sinew and strand of their being rush their blood. Whoever they are, they won't let them go. Half-day ride, again, they found nothing. The Northern Plains is as big as a continent, a seventh of the kingdom the Lord Commander told them, bordered by mountains and forests with scattered villages and few small fortresses to keep it. They have bare luck with them, and the food they brought, and the horses wouldn't last forever. Night falls, and eventually, they have to rest themselves. Sour wine, rabbits, and wild deer are the only things that warm their guts tonight. They need an answer. "Whoever they are they must've known that we're coming," one man said around the fire. "I've seen seasons came and went. It's the winter. These murderers only care about whatever they can take with them. It's impossible to find them." The brothers nodded in agreement, some quipped their own opinions. There are four months, now three, only before the last day of autumn. And when the winter snow falls, every village should've cleared their fields of crops. Before the last harvest, every granary should be filled with grain-crops and taters, and every pantry with whatever food that could last the three next months. But Domee and Lommary were already gone. "We too should ride for hearth and home," the man sulked. And there was silence among the brothers. "What you wanted to say?" Sir Galwerth interrupted, suddenly grabbed him from behind. His eyes are glaring with anger. "We can't let them roam free. They are murderers. They are thieves. They are rapists. You wanted them live? Huh?!" "I... I am just saying that they must've been preparing to outrun us, sir." Toyne replied, rephrasing his words. "I only wanted to say that they might've outrun us already." Sir Galwerth bit his lips. "Gods cursed us should we let them live. I also hope they will prepare a special place for you lots who dared to run from their duty and broke their oaths," he said as he mounted above his horse. "And maybe as you say, should they have outrun us, we only have to pursue them relentlessly," he said before giving his mount a trot. The lieutenant is weary. The soldiers felt it. Around a bonfire, not so far, is the camp of Lyle and his subordinates. Joey and three others had picked everything; dried leaves, branches and twigs they can gather for fire. They too saw Sir Galwerth riding by himself. They wondered should they get the lieutenant a chase. "Don't bother," said Lyle brusquely. "Blame them." He knew Sir Galwerth, a gallant man, a man of his own words. And he never gives up when there's still hope. "Sir, is it wise? To not to?" one of the men asked, pointing out his confusion. "Both wise and not wise." Lyle didn't know the answer. His eyes for last hours fixed at Joey, or what he did, to be exact. One hour to search for firewood, and an hour again, he already gets his hands on wild forest-chicken. He also found thyme, and base leaves. Cleverly done, Lyle thought, as Joey hid them all from his fellow soldiers, saying that Lyle hunted them. No one asked for a share. No one dared to. "But, is it alright, sir?" Joey asked. His eyes reflecting fear, but only him who didn't afraid to admit it. "I fear---" "You should fear for anything that might happen across Sir Galwerth," Lyle interrupted. "Yes, sir." And he fell muted. Looking at Joey's face, Lyle lets out a sigh. Often Lyle wonders, what would become of Northwind should every man in every station is Joey. They certainly wouldn't make a puddle of their own making, but they will make a puddle of their enemies blood. A loyal lad, not seasoned, but will do well. One battle, Joey had stabbed one poor pikeman over and over. But any men who are unlucky enough to meet Sir Galwerth in the field got carved like pies. Sir Galwerth loves pies. And a red-carved nape is more than enough to kill a man. Better, he knew how to carve them both. Not after two hours, Sir Galwerth returned. His mind is already cleared, but his mount carried something else in return. A wolf pelt, shining dully by the moonlight. "Gods," Joey exclaimed in disbelief. "I'm back, boy," Sir Galwerth jested as he put a big, warm, smile on his blood-drenched face. Clearly, his sour face had passed. "Nothing is better for me I guess." "Nothing is better for you," Lyle too, agreed. If Sir Galwerth didn't take it to the wolf, there might be some broken bones and dented armours. But Lyle has seen that Sir Galwerth had something to tell him. "You there, give me something to clean my face." Ser Galwerth ordered the men, but his eyes were fixed upon Joey. Or at least the linen he was holding the entire time. "Bring me some wine too, if there's anything left. And the chicken, as I could smell one from far." "Yes, sir." The lad didn't bother to stand idle any longer. The soldiers too run like they've been chased by dogs, leaving the two alone. And Lyle was fascinated of the sight. "Riding away from your trouble did give me some moment to think clearly, and something else," Sir Galwerth exhaled. "I think I saw something back there, light, two-or-so leagues if my eyes right." "Near the forest borders. If you're sure it's not fireflies," Lyle talked quietly, hesitantly. "But, you can always give the order, sir." "Could be me seeing things." Sir Galwerth lips hardened. For a second, his face turned to sour again. And his eyes stared at the distance. "Shouldn't scare the men too. They're right, boy. We should ride hard for hearth and home. Our chances are slim. But what's our chance, again?" "Almost nothing. But, still better than nothing." "Either it's fireflies or my eyes playing tricks," he chuckled. Ser Galwerth flushed out his skin for wine until the last drop. "In times like this, Kayne would know if I'm drunk or not but, he's not here." "Any choices left, sir?" "No," the tired looking knight said as he gazed upon the fire. "Fewer." Hearing the word, Lyle could only nod in solemn silence. "Bring some riders," Sir Galwerth ordered. "You know what to do should things go awry."