The walk back to the Town Square felt the longest of Aster's life.

Every clop of the horse's hooves against the cobblestone street was an echoing testament to the unnerving stillness of the night. Aster's eyes flashed around the looming shadows of the stone buildings and towers that filled the sides of the wide street. Something about their drooping concealment of the buildings made him feel that the shadows had clawed their way from the depths of the Wood of Astfall by day and had somehow become unchained to feed upon it at night.

He looked down at his ax as they walked in silence. Its blood-stained edge attested to the death of the wolves, but his stomach churned with nervousness. He could not shake the feeling that something else had become very much alive. Glancing behind him, the unnamed stranger followed in long, smooth steps so purposeful that they hardly distilled the air. Not far behind walked Castleia, hood raised to shroud her face, ax in hand.

The dazzling white shape of the stranger's stallion paced beside him, head swaying gently as its wide, dark eyes took in the foreign shapes of the city.

Aster followed its gaze. Many of the street buildings were wrought with great stone bricks, but the moonlight glancing from their dull grey faces morphed them into towering monstrosities of rock. Sharp contours followed the faces of the mansions, towers, and storefronts in sharp overhangs that smelt an aged face on the otherwise nondescript structures.

Finally the road broadened into a wide square. The buildings ended in sheer corners, framing the vast square that was barely wide enough to allow the pure white of the moon to cascade through their towers. A hundred yards away the street continued back through the high walls of the city, but between the Aster and the road stood a dominating structure.

A ring of columns held a lofty dome above the small square. Tall bronze brazers held crackling basins of oil lamps above the assembly that gathered beneath. A looming stone and bronze canopy blocked out the night above them, framing the flames. The building itself was little to mention - the columns were some four feet thick of roughly hewed rock standing some fifty feet tall, upon which the swooping, smooth surface of the stone dome rested.

It was the crowd of people under the building that commanded attention. Through the open edge of columns, Aster saw a great number of the city had gathered. At least two hundred people stood in the light of the brazers to stare upon a smaller assembly that was unfolding in the center of the structure.

As they got closer, this smaller assembly came into view. Three stout oak trunks lay in the center of the structure to form an angular horseshoe. At his distance Aster could not make out the age the trunk ends revealed, but each boasted no less than three feet in diameter. Around the outer edge of this arrangement eight or nine men sat, their calloused hands resting on the mighty trunks as they might a table. Inside the horseshoe a man Aster recognized as Vahnir, the rider who had come through the gate earlier, spoke to the assembly.

"- somewhere between the Thorn Elm and the Faded Figure. We would have waited for him, but the wolves were on a Prowl. He fell behind."

"He is the fifth one in as many months to 'fall behind,' Captain," one of the men seated around the oak trunks declared. "What is your response to these unprecedented losses?"

The hunter paused. "The losses are regrettable, Mir Garn, but not unprecedented. The spring is upon us and with it comes the hunger of the wolves. While my men and I are the most prepared for venturing into Astfall of any of the Watch, our skill is often overshadowed by the ire of the wood, as you well know."

At this Aster could make out the seated figure's hand creeping to touch a pale, twisted part of skin on his face.

"And what would you have us do, Captain?" another of the seated men challenged. "There are not a hundred men trained as rangers. These losses are not sustainable, nor welcome to this counsel."

"Train more," the hunter answered. "Darkness broods within the wood if not broken by our axes. Wolves, yes they gather, but fouler things lurk in the mire. My heart would not rest if our steeds did not ride among those cursed trees for fear of what might ride in our place."

"We have all heard the stories, Vahnir," the eldest among the seated men murmured. He sat at the head of the counsel in a royal blue cloak wrapped around his small frame over which a mighty slate-grey beard drooped from his sharp jaw. "Our question is what should be made of them. Deaths have become commonplace. Scrolls warn us of the woods. To let your troop continue to forfeit your lives in this cause - this is folly. Is it not better to assign them to the defense of city?"

"Mir Emereld, you speak with wisdom, but I assure you my men are ill spent on the walls of this city."

"There you are mistaken," the elderly man declared. "None of the men under your command are yours. They are wards of this city, members of its assembly, and subject to its laws. Can you give us no just cause to continue your ventures at the expense of their lives?"

Aster tore his eyes from the interrogation as Vahnir paused in unanswered silence so he could glance at the stranger beside him. The pale man's face stared from within his cowl.

"These your leaders?" the stranger inquired.

"The Timber Council," Aster replied hesitantly. "They are a leader of sorts." He pointed to the eldest of the men who sat at the crest of the council. "There is Emereld, our Council Elder. He is the nearest thing to an authority here."

"And of what do they speak?" the man questioned softly. His tone was devoid of curiosity but his apparent interest still surprised the boy.

"Astfall," Aster replied. "A vast wood just North and west of our walls that spreads as far our a horse's ride."

"No," the stranger replied, "of this I am aware. What of the death's your Council Elder speaks?"

"Oh, pardon me. There are men among us, rangers, that train to survive the woods and keep that which might rise from it at bay." Aster paused. "Unfortunately with the spring comes renewed drive by the wolves of the wood to repel them. And, well, other things."

Castleia snorted gruffly.

The stranger leveled his glance in silence.

"...There are stories about what else lives in Astfall," Aster murmured. "Rangers have seen things - stories about shadows that moved and killed. And..." He stopped. "And sometimes the rangers come back.. not quite right. Hollow of sorts."

The stranger offered no indication that the heard these words beyond sheathing his sword. The tone of steel clamoring against its sheath drew several stares from the crowd of men and women, but it was not until the cloaked rider dropped the reigns of his horse and began driving his way through the crowd that he became was noticed.

With each man or women he shouldered aside another murmur rose from the crowd until many of the people assemble were cursing or shouting. Their words fell on deaf ears; the elf continued to push men and women pushed aside. The man offered no apology or hesitation until he stood beside Vahnir and the council who had then noticed the commotion.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vahnir jeered. "Who are you to intervene with this council?"

A soft but firm voice cleared, initiating a silence over the crowd. Emereld's eyes stared down the newcomer who remained stout in the center of the assembly.

"The actions of our people prove it has been too long since a guest stood among us. I offer my humblest apologies and a firm welcome, Waymaster. Pray, what is your name and from where you do come?"

"Mir Emereld, this man -" Vahnir started.

"Is our guest," the Elder interrupted. "I see you have a steed with you," the counselor nodded to where Castleia and Aster stood. "Vahnir, see to it that Waymaster's creature is given food and bedding."

"That is unnecessary," the stranger finally uttered. "My beast is my responsibility. As for my name, I am called Narenhior by my people, and I herald from the south."

"We are far in the northern reaches of the earth and many lands lie to our south; can you give no other reply?" Emereld pressed softly.

"I hail from Celebrior. I expect this shall mean nothing to you as it is many leagues away."

Emereld bowed his head. "Just so, though I am happy to be acquainted with it. And what has sent you from it to our city's refuge?"

"My story of is little consequence. It is the tale I have heard on this night that warrants more attention than any tale I might tell. However, should you listen to my own I then may be able to offer you a solution to yours."

A murmur rose from the crowd around the council, as well as from several of the seated counselors.

Emereld glanced at his fellows before bowing his head and spreading his thin hands. "We would be more than happy to hear your tale, and if it should offer any aid to our fight than all the better for it."