<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(176, 101, 0)"> b06500 <br/>
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Red was the last to move, after all the horses had passed him. He couldn't stand the creatures but they sure did taste good. He wondered if he might have time to cut up one, once they got to the Outpost, and bring some salted horse meat along for the journey. It would probably be the freshest meat they'd have unless there was a hunter among them. His long great strides matched those of the horses, but he hung back, avoiding the worst of the dust cloud the beasts kicked up walking along the solitary, dry, dirt path.</span><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b06500">The nearest rider looked like he had a stick shoved up his ass with how tense he was. There were no immediate threats in the Grass, no unseen enemy army ready to pounce. For his lack of speech, Red listened. A lot. He heard more than people thought. There were wolves, yes, but never more than a few hours from the nearest tree line. Wolves hunted by sight and smell - the Grass was impenetrable to even them and the hares and rabbits were barely worth the time. <br/>
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No, they had to worry about the other...things that lurked in the grass. Snakes, for one of the more obvious creatures. He hated snakes. Something about them made his skin crawl, and that was saying something. Not much made his skin crawl. But he heard those arrogant pricks in the maroon and gold talking about the other 'Things'. The things they didn't have names for, the things that made sentries disappear in the night when traveling across the Grass. The Things that disemboweled horses, or left their carcasses picked clean to the bone behind. <br/>
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He didn't know if Holger Grimsson of the Spear Islands knew these things. He certainly hadn't mentioned them to anyone.</span>