Trace looked suspiciously at Bitterroot, but didn’t say anything. She glanced up and muttered, “Taking their sweet old time, aren’t they?” She shook her head and started examining the ground. Almost immediately, she grinned. “A-ha. Our little necromancer wasn’t so good with heights, either. Take a gander.” She pointed at a few spots on the ground; Bitterroot didn’t need to look hard to see the flecks of blood inside the hoofprints. “Tender frogs plus rough surfaces equals bleeding soles,” Trace said. “Surprisingly common. I’d put good odds on finding her camp from last night soon.” She walked alongside the tracks for a few yards, matching their spacing as much as she could. “Hmm. Her pace is a touch smaller than usual, but that might just be fatigue.”