The mood was light as the group of hunters left the castle grounds and headed over the killing fields towards Borghast's favourite hunting ground, at least on the surface.<br/>Each man had been especially picked, a master with blade and dagger, crossbow and spear, all had been briefed all knew what to do.<br/>The dogs, set loose on order, stretched their legs and flushed out anything they could find in the long grass, a pheasant, a hare, all chased as the dogs got rid of their excess energy so that they could hunt in a more sedate manner.<br/>The men bantered amongst themselves, including Borghast in their biting jibes, for he was amongst friends, his most trusted and the only ones who could get away with such remarks.<br/>Only the pack horse, as yet unladen, seemed unusually ill at ease.<br/>Brought along to carry any game they killed, it skitted and behaved as though it already carried something, something it wasn't happy about having on it's back, though nothing could be seen there in the bright early morning sun.<br/><br/>As they entered the woodlands, at fist not so thick, the mood changed.<br/>Still light, but quieter, the dogs called to heal, the men naturally hushed as they began to move more cautiously.<br/>Today there was more at stake than scaring off a stag or pig.....