Upon hearing the voice again, sounding more distinctly like someone in some distress, Sir Percival decided to risk taking a closer look. It would impossible to take Rhyndon off the track, so he dismounted, and, quickly tying Rhyndon to a nearby branch (there seemed to be no evidence of wolves near by), he extended his torch-bearing hand in front of him into the darkness, spreading the light to try and see someone in the darkness. He stepped gingerly into the underbrush, the fallen leaves crisping under his riding boots. For a moment he closed his eyes and concentrated to see if he could sense any evil in the vicinity, but there was none. Still, his sense was not always accurate, and faerie folk did not always get up to mischief out of evil.<br/><br/>'Fain would I deal succour unto a friend which mote need thereof,' Sir Percival called out. 'Are ye friend or foe unto a knight which seeketh a house marvellous fashioned of gingerbread?'