There was a crispness to the cool spring air that nearly took Gerald's breath away as he rode. This past winter had been harsh, but now the warmth of the spring, cold as it was, threatened to melt the snow with great speed, turning the ground to mush.
Beside him rode Blackwood, while the rest of the patrol followed behind them in pairs. He spotted the strange twisted elm tree that marked the boundaries of the Ramstead farm and the outer limit of today's patrol. Pushing his horse into a faster trot, he looked forward to soon returning to the warmth of the Keep. He was about to say as much to Blackwood when something caught his attention. He listened intently, trying to place the sound, and there it was again; the familiar noise of fighting.
He drew his sword, urging his horse into a gallo
