In the middle of a small clearing enclosed by thick underbrush, the torn carcasses of what once had been four teepees surrounded a broad fire pit circled with stones. Woven baskets were torn up and scattered about the wrecked camp with dozens of feathers littering the area like autumn leaves. The stench of death hung in the air with every local bird oddly silent after they had been singing all day. Not even the wind rustled the treetops as two persons moved cautiously into the area to comb through what remained.
Stepping around the cold ashes in the fire pit, Galen kept his rifle at the high ready with his finger ready to disengage the safety. Something was giving him the chills even with the heat and him being redressed in his tunic after his shirt dried out. Between the abundance of aba
