The Ridge Gives Way

To a gentle slope that slides down into a belt of trees. Beyond the belt the ground rises again, a soft down-like, grass-covered slope, climbing from the trees until its motion is arrested by the ruin of stone, a castle's walls. The castle crowns the hill, but not in glory, for its walls stand alone and its towers as shadows of their greater pasts. The crown of stone is a wreck of time's past. 

A shroud hangs over the lang. Fog clings to the trees and creeps along the ravines that circle the hill-top castle, looking more as if an ethereal army lay siege to the long abandoned ruins.

But the ruins offer a welcome respite from the day's trials. The wolves howl again, giving notice of their gains on your track; but worse, far beyond, in the far off woods a single horn, deep and mournful, sounds the hunt renewed. Your night has only just begun . . .