"Alright, on the count of three." The others brace themselves, preparing to push in unison.<br/><br/>"One...Tw--" suddenly, Geno lifts the entire cart out of the mud by himself and sets it down on solid ground. The horses still tethered to the cart's front complain as the cart shoves them in the rear.<br/><br/>"--or...you could just do that. That works too. Thanks, Geno."<br/><br/>Geno needs only follow the cart to find similar jobs waiting for him. For the next few hours, assuming he doesn't get tired and turn in earlier, the craftsmen use him as a living forklift as they reconstruct the damaged north gate. "Geno, could you bring that stack of boards over here?" "Geno, could you hold this log like this?" "Actually, I need it back where it was." "This rock needs to be up there." "No, Geno, that one's got a crack in it, bring me the other one." And so on.<br/><br/><br/><br/>After about forty minutes of waiting, Fiona catches a whiff of rodent upwind of her. The wind is too loud for her to hear how many are approaching. A few seconds later, a bobbing lantern comes around the corner. It swings on the end of a pole that's being carried by a guardmouse in banded mail. To either side of him are unarmored micefolk.<br/><br/>[mousefolk spot: 1d20(4)+2=6; DC=30; fail]<br/>[mousefolk spot: 1d20(16)+2=18; DC=30; fail]<br/>[guardmouse spot: 1d20(15)+10=25; DC=30; fail]<br/><br/>The three of them hustle down the path that passes under the branches, hugging their cloaks against their bodies for warmth. They are oblivious to Fiona's presence.