Episode 7
Divisions
Elorie and Enchandra
Silver light blooms, filling the sight of the two elven females.
A wrenching sensation follows, a chill of the outer dark, as they
phase through the N'inu and are deposited at their destination.
Shaken by the powerful magic, Elorie leans against the familiar
warm walls of the palace, and looks about. Ahhh, as accurate
as always. Elorie tries to lift Enchandra, to carry her to
the healers, but the plate-armored form is far too heavy for the
slender elf maid. Gasping at the effort and sighing in
exasperation, she runs lightly into the complex of rooms, and
calls for aid. Soon Enchandra is born away by her fellow priests,
and Elorie sighs again, in relief. Pondering her options, she
lets her feet lead her in the direction of the Sparrowhawk's
throne room.
As Elorie walks, she thinks. Doubts grow, and suspicions develop, of seeds sewn the two rogue Wolves. The king wouldn't really order a messenger slain, would he? He is wise enough to know that never would he receive true reports again, if things were dire. And no situation is as dire as this! But still. His daughter slain, a dark mage threatening invasion, winter wolves betraying their duty - and I, with White Feather's head, so conveniently close. Swallowing, Elorie is suddenly fearful, and stops, undecided. What should I do?
Nodding graciously to a passing guardsman, who gives Elorie an elaborate bow and a wink, she runs to a small secluded spot she knew, a lovely garden in a court that was usually empty, where she had enjoyed many nights. She needed to think, to plan. The fate of many hung in her small hands, and her shoulders felt the lead weight of responsibility. And that guardsman, who...oh, right. One of cousin Xidiria's friends. She's brought him along to one of the many feasts and revels house Silverstorm hosted. Stealing him had been worth the cat fight, though she hadn't expected her cousin to sharpen her nails for the occasion. Bitch.
Slowing her pace, she has nearly reached her destination, when a familiar form intercepted her, a tall figure in the green robes of a palace sceptre. "Irrityr!" Without pause, Elorie runs into his arms, and kisses him passionately. Though startled, the dark haired palace mage turns and envelops her in his arms, returning her kiss. His hands stray to her bottom, and Elorie starts shaking, tearful.
"What is wrong, little flower?" Irrityr questions her -- real concern in his eyes.
Choking slightly, Elorie gathers her breath, and replies in a small voice, "trust me, friend, you do not want to know. Can you help me?"
His eyes wide, Irrityr's interest is now piqued. That's what I like about him - my old teacher in magic is very much like me. "What would you have me do, love?" asks Irrityr.
"Who commands the king's guards at present?" Elorie asks.
Irrityr's lips twist in disdain, and he spits out, "your darling cousin blockhead...uh...I mean...uh...Fevril. If you're up to any mischief, you had better think again. I do believe they rammed a partisan up his ass the moment he was born. That idiot never bends. That's why the king trusts him. He always says "yes master" and does exactly as Sparrowhawk orders. I can't believe he is related to you!"
Cousin Fevril, cousin Fevril. It isn't that bad. Elorie tried to convince herself that everything would be fine. He really is loyal. If stone headed, dull and humourless, he was at least competent and efficient. And he'd let her through, on her word. Never breaking one's word does help occasionally. "Thank you, it's not what you think. And here." Elorie shoves Camille's remains and equipment at Irrityr. "This was Camille. Please see her body returned to her family, and her equipment to the Royal Armory. Thank you. No time to explain, I must be off. Safety of the realm, and all that."
Flashing him a brave smile, Elorie runs off, not looking back. The guardsmen direct her to her cousin, who is annotating a report, sitting behind a desk at the receiving antechamber next to the throne room. Fevril is golden haired and angelically handsome, but there was a certain hard cast to his face. Looking up from the paper he was reading at her entrance, Fevril observes her entrance.
"Elorie," Fevril says in an even, emotionless tone - his usual mode of speech, "I thought you were sent after the princess and her abductor. If this is a projected image or another illusionary trick in an attempt to gain access to his majesty, I am instructed to inform you that the punishment for such a deed is death. Invariably."
As Fevril begins to draw his blade, Elorie makes a small gesture, and a misty blue light blossoms upon her outstretched hand. "This is really me. And I need to report a disaster. A calamity. War, death and terror. His majesty must see me immediately. My word upon it." Elorie stares at her cousin, waiting.
Not convinced, Fevril pokes her with the blunt side of his sword. Quite solid. "Ooof! Do that again you miserable minion of the mighty, and I'll turn you into a toad, and make sure to pass Phensharin a wonderful recipe for toasted amphibian. Accompanied by you! I'll..." Nodding slightly, Fevril cuts her off, "very well Elorie, you may enter."
The portal of King Sparrowhawk's inner throne room oscillates open...
Elorie enters the throne room and is pleasantly surprised.
Immediately she is bathed in magical lights, reds, blues, greens,
that float through the cavernous space. Hundred of elves recline
on the floor in various sexual positions, enjoying themselves and
their partners' flesh. King Sparrowhawk is seated on his living
wooden throne at the head of the festivities with a wreath of
wildflowers in place of his normal gold and wooden crown. A young
elf maiden, no more than a child has her head between his legs,
and he has his head between her teeth. She is bobbing with the
rhythm of the King's whimpers. The room is dark save for the
magical lights, and they rotate playing at angles off of the
forms that are scattered about the floor. Elven musicians are
playing a rhythmic tune that has been composed for this occasion.
Massive tables of food are laid the length of a lightly shaped oaken table that runs the length of the room. The table is decked with the finest linen cloth, white bowls and fine wooden utensils that have been recently polished to a shine. Bowls of stew, bread and vegetables of all kinds steam creating a scintillating aroma. Occasionally an elf rises from the activities on the floor, gathers food on a plate and returns. The centerpiece of this fine feast is the head of an elven criminal. She can plainly be distinguished because the points of her ears have been severed. The white linen cloth is stained with blood where the elf maid's head rests. The top of the skull has been sawn in twain and replaced. Elorie watches as a nude elven male rises from the massive orgy and walks to the elf head, his penis stiff and pulsating. He lifts the top of the skull from its position and uses a spoon to scoop some of the poor elf's brain onto a slice of steaming bread. He spreads the brain around with the wooden spoon, folds the bread in half and crams the half-sandwich into his salivating hole.
Elorie snorts in disgust at the "brain sandwich". As if
that would help the he-elf grow smarter! Dissipated she might be,
but dining on her fellows, whose bodies should nourish the
forest, is simply barbaric. These courtiers and their empty
posturings and fashions! Now she remembers exactly why she joined
the Winter Wolves. To escape the stifling atmosphere of decadence
and the atrocities at court, where a backstabbing word could have
one drawn and quartered for the pleasure of these giggling and
perfumed cads. Still, the distractions of the court, the
pleasures of the flesh and the abandonment of passion are a
welcome relief from the tension that has stiffened her muscles.
Enchandra enters the room behind Elorie. She is walking. The healing arts of the elven clerics have proven powerful this day through the strong faith and prayer the elven adherents. Enchandra's face radiates the power of her God and the spiritual magics that have coursed through her body these past hours. Elorie notes that Enchandra looks more beautiful than she remembers. The elven clerics may have overdone the she-priest's healing. Enchandra and Elorie walk toward the King concerned that they will have to bring horrible news and great pain to their sovereign. Whatever the King may be, Elorie and Enchandra know that he was a wonderful father. He fawned over White Feather with great effort and joy. He loved his daughter and the news of her horrible death with nigh destroy him. Two young he-elves approach Elorie and begin to softly rub her nipples through her clothing. She strokes the penis of each one in turn kneeling to pleasure the he-elf for a brief moment with her wet mouth before she moves forward. The male elves smile and each kisses Elorie deeply before returning to the undulating floor of the throne room.
The two female Wolves approach the King and sit before him, legs crossed, heads down -- the elven custom. The King writhes with pleasure as the young girl continues to bob her head on his member. She sucks the head of his penis with abandon as she strokes his penis with one hand and fondles the royal testicles with the other. In a few brief moments, the King ejaculates in the young she-elf's waiting mouth. She swallows the harvest of royal seed, smiles and mouths "thank you" to her lord. He caresses her head, and she recedes into the naked crowd. The King looks at Elorie and Enchandra, thinks for a long moment and then motions them to rise.
The brief interlude before approaching the king has left Elorie refreshed. Approaching the throne, she kneels and prostrates herself on the smooth marble floor, and her mouth speaks, as if it is being controlled by some outside force, "Royal majesty, I have disturbing news." But The King waves his hand at her, and at the king's gesture, she falls silent, tilting her head to one side and waiting patiently for his words. He looks at her with hunger in his eyes and smiles. He waits for a full minute before he speaks.
Almost offhandedly the king says:
Enchandra thou hast come through the fire
Thou now stands on regenerated knee
The court clerics thou hast used to heal
The horror of thy forested travail.
Elorie thou hast also seen much pain
For child I can see it in thy eyes
To much pain it doth unbalance pleasure
Come thou now and pleasure each the other
When thou art through fair maidens of my eye
Thou shalt come that I too may pleasure thee.
At his pronouncement, Elorie thinks better of saying ought, and simply obeys. Gracefully, to the steps of a court dance, she weaves about, the pattern of her feet on marble a counterpoint to the music filling the hall, as she disrobes. Nude, she displays herself to the king's practiced eye, smiling visibly at the hunger on his face, her alabaster pale body aflush with desire. The only points of color on Elorie's slender exquisite white form are her pink, vestal nipples, at the apex of her full high breasts, and her sapphire hair and electric blue eyes. Bare and ready, she turns to Enchandra, her mouth forming the word "later." When the king has his way with them, then he shall learn what he must. A few moments would matter not at all, and robbing him of his desire might prove less than salutary.
Enchandra ignores the piles of flesh surrounding them on their way through the King's inner chamber. She clucks in dismay only when she has to step over two intertwined bodies, the lovers oblivious to the passersby. The King speaks his words and the priestess feels sorry for him and bitter of the news that they have come to bear.
Elorie drops her clothes upon the King's request and the sorceress turns to Enchandra and mouths the word, "Later." Enchandra sighs, the energy from her renewal strong within her but the desire to be pleasured is low, almost nonexistent. She disrobes reluctantly, and takes Elorie into her embrace, whispering, " To make a father happy, this I will do. However, do not return the favor of the things I do unto you."
Elorie nods in understanding, and presses herself against the priestess's form for a moment, then she stills, moving in response to Enchandra's will. Many of her lovers have preferred domination, and she had no qualms about accepting gratification. She cannot understand her sister Wolf's reluctance, but Elorie respects Enchandra's wish.
Enchandra kisses Elorie softly, her tongue probing for the softest point in the elf's mouth, and finding it, dallies there until a moan comes from the sorceress's throat. She drops down to Elorie's breasts, kissing a virginal nipple and the soft underside of an alabaster breast, tenderly, as Enchandra had received herself so long ago. She continues further down to the soft mound between Elorie's legs and parts the delicate labia minorum with her wet tongue, Enchandra's hands straddling Elorie's buttocks.
Elorie moans and twists slightly. The urge to use her hands to guide Enchandra's mouth is nearly overwhelming, but the sorceress locks them behind her back.
Enchandra reaches deep with her probing tongue, and does not allow the sorceress to lay down, keeping a firm grasp upon her buttocks. Finally, an orgasm sweeps over Elorie, and Enchandra lowers Elorie into her arms and Enchandra whispers, "Please the king as you will. I cannot, for I can find no want nor thrill."
Enchandra hopes by these words that Elorie will be more than enough for the King. Enchandra, though excited by the elf maidens body and the taste of her still tangy in her mouth, does not wish to perform an act with such a burden resting on her soul. A burden which unfortunately has to be born out upon a Father's head...
A breath passes before Elorie comprehends her words, and responds. Kneeling, in her arms, Elorie kisses Enchandra deeply on the mouth, and whispers, "close your eyes and lie down."
Suiting actions to words, Elorie pushes the priestess down, and lies on her, breast to breast. She kisses her closed eyelids, and rises to her knees. Her hand caresses the soft, vulnerable belly, and then she rises to her feet, giving a regretful sigh. Turning to face the king, Elorie advances towards the wooden throne, and kneels once again before him, thighs spread. A clear droplet of passion courses from Elorie's silky soft sapphire mound down her right thigh, and she notes that the king's phallus is once again stone erect. Pursing her lips, she says dramatically, waving her hands, "oh woe! the priestess is overcome. These earthwardens, so strange they are."
Moving a finger in the air, Elorie shapes a spiral, a whirlwind. "The lords of air I know, but this..." Shaking her head, blue curls weaving like a wild skyscape beyond the cloudy paleness of her body, Elorie continues, her voice now husky. "Priestess Enchandra of the Oak cannot partake of thy royal pleasure today, O Majesty. I know not why - nor do I care. Perhaps you might soothe my pain, and pleasure me?" Elorie licks her lips, crimson tongue like blood on snow, and stares at his manhood with irresistible intensity. "Without any... distractions..." Sparrowhawk's eyes widen and his member glows reddish in the magical light of the inner sanctum.
Watching the female Wolves' display has indeed made Sparrowhaws's phallus erect once again. He looks at Elorie with hunger, but he also continues to gaze at Enchandra. When Elorie mentions that he will not have Enchandra as well his countenance drifts for a moment, and then he begins to think, his chin propped on his hand. He looks at Enchandra and says:
"Enchandra, thou shalt pleasure me, As I
Have commanded thee with royal power.
Do not avoid that which I bid thee do
Twas not a suggestion flew from my lips
Rather was a euphemistic order
Now down with both of you that I may come
In the womanhood of both comely Wolves."
Unhappy with the king's response, Elorie wishes to distract him form her Sister Wolf, out of respect for Enchandra's wishes. If the king is exhausted, his reaction to the knowledge she carries would be muted, and he'll quite forget about riding the priestess. Rising from her kneeling position, she advances towards Sparrowhawk, and settles herself on the majestic lap, mounting his thigh, her legs to either side, pressing her sex against him.
Elorie uses her hands and tongue to drive Sparrowhawk to a frenzy and moves her body rhythmically against him, pressing up and down. Her practiced fingers trace circles around his navel, with slowly increasing radii. Still, she avoids his member, deliberately inflaming him. When her tongue goes into his ear, Sparrowhawk bucks and bellows, "enough of this, little one! it is time to sheath my lust in you!"
Lifting Elorie with ease, Sparrowhawk rises and turns her about. Slapping her bottom once, he proceeds to mount her, his large hands exploring and pinching her soft body, his emits a low groan, almost an animal growl. A short while later he comes to climax in Elorie's sex, and releases her. Not content with this, Elorie turns with the swiftness of a striking serpent and presses her mouth to his limp manhood, her hands probing his anus. As soon as the king once more grows erect, Elorie turns her mouth to other pursuits, tracing patterns of fire over his skin. When he grows impatient once more, she directs him subtly to positions wherein he must work for his pleasure, as Elorie lies in near passivity.
Settled beneath the King, Elorie is nearly overwhelmed by his great weight, and begs him to support himself on hands and knees. He kisses her savagely and relents only when he hears her choking. With another long ejaculation and his energy spent, Sparrowhawk rolls off of the small sapphire girl, leaving several visible bruises on her translucent skin. Elorie breathes deeply for long minutes, much as the king, and then she proceeds to mould her body to his once more, lying flat on him.
Elorie kisses Sparrowhawk deeply, probing with her tongue, and meets his parrying sword. The long kiss finished, Elorie moves her body forward, allowing her breasts to fill the king's view. Not one to let such succulent fruit escape him, the king uses tongue, teeth and lips to drive Elorie mad, his meaty hands probing her supple buttocks. Advancing forward, Elorie sits on the king's face, and his skill swiftly brings her to a powerful, shuddering orgasm. Rolling liquidly off the king and leaving much liquid on the kings regal face, Elorie observes that Sparrowhawk is once more erect. Having seen him at more than one orgy, Elorie is not certain whether she is actually capable of exhausting the satyr king. Nonetheless, she is obliged to make the attempt - and she is enjoying herself, even more than she anticipated. While she was well aware that practice makes perfect, she had not thought to apply the adage to this king.
Rising to her knees, Elorie grasps the throbbing phallic flesh of the king, and leads Sparrowhawk to his feet, moving him to the nearest wooden wall. Leaning back, Elorie spreads her thighs, and invites him to inside her saying, "charge, oh greatest of cavaliers, with the most magical of phallic lances". Sparrowhawk, not needing a second invitation, proceeds to press her against the wall, impaling her on his shaft. Not content with this, he lifts her, and lays her back on the throne's arms, thrusting with abandon. Fortunately for Elorie, both arms of the throne are heavily padded, and she sustains little injury. Bellowing, the king comes to climax again and says:
Elorie thou sapphire sorceress
Has calmed the fire of my royal lust
Good that thou art not a prudish abbess
Or a hard patronizing Oaken nun
Thou hast made me come in you now thrice hard
And soft was the loin of thy folded flesh
Most sweet was thy lubricating oil jarred
In the sheath of thy pink and muscled mesh
Thy magic has set a spell on my heart
And hast shone me powerful fleshly lust
Thou are a practiced and skilled elven tart
And come again to pleasure me thou must
Sit on me; receive my mighty flood.
I've seen thy tunnel full of seed and blood.
Sparrowhawk then walks slowly to the other side of the throne, thrusting his hips at Elorie's mouth, which takes him in again. Slower to rise for the nonce, the king takes his time, moving his hands over Elorie's body and commenting on the unusual color of her hair. When he withdraws from her mouth, glistening and full once more, Elorie says, "the coloration is a result of a bet my mother took when she was pregnant with me. A salacious story, but rather long."
Stretching her hand forward, Elorie cups Sparrowhawk's testicles, and proceeds to rub a slender finger along the length of his penis. "Now what shall we do with this?" she asks as her mouth takes his glans in for a moment, and her tongue traces a circle around it.
Sparrowhawk proceeds to turn her around, and takes Elorie from behind. Thrusting in and out, ignoring her moans, he continues for nearly a minute, and then lifts her and seats himself again on the throne, his hands wrapped around the elf maid impaled on his member. His thick fingers enter her, and his tongue plays with the tips of her ears. Until both come, and Elorie falls limp against his bulk, her head on his shoulder. Her sex is now wet with a flood of royal seed.
Now or never, Elorie thinks to herself, and she whispers in Sparrowhawk's ear, "listen well, majesty. The Wolves you sent found Damien. He is a necromancer. He has built an army of undead, and claims that your kingdom belongs to him. I've little doubt he intends to invade the Elven Forest, and from what the Wolves who faced him said, he possesses mighty magic. The Wolves failed to rescue White Feather. Damien slew her in an immolation. But we have White Feather's head, and the priests may resurrect your daughter with ease. Damien immolated White Feather in a sex act to use her life and lust to create some sort of enchanted staff, drawing on her vitality and passion."
Enchandra, kneeling, her face facing the floor, is grateful for the sorceress's intervention. Enchandra does not know how she would explain to the debauched king her belief that her womanhood is meant for only one man -- her husband, Efraim. Her loving, oh so naive and slow husband, Efraim.
Tears well in Enchandra's eyes as she thinks of him, so strong in the physical sense, yet so weak of mind and will. He doted on Enchandra with all of his heart, and even the command of the King could not cause her to betray his love, and passion for her. He was never accepted into normal Elf society, and that perhaps was the reason she loved him so dearly, his slow mannerisms and long thoughtful pauses being mistaken for imbecility by the brash youth and spoilt nobility of the land as it is now. It was not imbecility, just a slowness of comprehension and an innate shyness to speak before he was completely prepared. So many times Enchandra and her mate have talked into the night on a single subject, and the words he formed were like the songs of a flock birds, raising her spirits and within her a lust for the man she called "husband."
Enchandra still kneeled, naked, and watched the floor as the coupling between Elorie and Sparrowhawk reached a frenzied passion. Enchandra had no doubt that the King would still want to use her as a vessel for his manhood, but she had sworn to her dear husband that she was only his, and death was the only thing that would cause her to offer her womanhood to another man, be it king, ruffian, or priest. Slowly, Enchandra placed her garments on, wondering if her meeting with her God was coming, knowing that at the king's word, her life was forfeit.
The Te Rheim, lay hidden under magical dweomers and of course their bed, and Enchandra had chosen the life outlined in its writings. One chose a mate for life, and nothing shall sway this choosing. The Holy Word was Enchandra's bond to her God, and she would not forsake it at the command of a mortal King. She loved the Land and obeyed its nature. Enchandra would be damned before turning her back on her beliefs, for without faith and obedience, she was nothing, nothing...
Luthien
Luthien walked through the thick forest. His head down, searching
for the stray root or rock that would trip him and send him
sprawling. He had been sent after Elorie into the wilderness, but
he did not fully comprehend the king's plan. King Sparrowhawk
tendrd to be scatter-brained, so maybe he did not have a plan.
Maybe this was a fool's mission. Luthien and the other Winter
Wolves had been sent on them before. He remembered the time that
Queen Pine Cone could not live without a certain vase that she
had seen sketched in Master Berial's notebooks. Berial being the
elves most renowned ancient historian had made copious sketches
of human artifacts in his manuscripts. The Wolves were sent into
the heart of an ancient ruin to gain the vase, and giants
attacked as the Wolves exited the ruin. Terimar and Setlujan died
that day, bloody work, and for a simple, cracked vase. Queen Pine
Cone got her vase, and the Wolves got nothing, not even a nod of
appreciation from her royal hardness.
Head down, Luthien stumbles into a clearing, he had not been expecting clear walking as he had been fighting the brush around him for three days. Now, he was walking on a soft bed of pine needles, very pleasant to the feet and very quiet. That's when he noticed it from over the short hill in front of him, the call of carrion birds: eagles, buzzards and ravens. As Luthien crested the hill, he sent swarms of birds skyward. What lay under him, down the hill was a horrific sight, the charred remains of elves and other sentients scattered about the clearing, having been picked clean by the birds. And the stench...the smell was overpowering. Luthien dropped to his knees, overpowered by the scent. That is when he saw the note lying on the ground, glowing magically.
The note was from Elorie, and it read:
"White Feather killed by Damien, insane
necromancer with undead army, plans invasion. Used life and sex
to create staff of power. Hawk
and Korian gone rogue, after him. Enchandra injured, teleported
to palace. Good luck!"
As Luthien squatted at the edge of the clearing, fighting to control the bile that was threatening to rise at the stench of corrupt flesh, he pondered the options facing him. hmmm.. I could return to the palace and find Elorie and the other Wolves. But then this would be a wasted trip.
Having decided on a course of action Luthien stood and began to scour the clearing for clues as to the direction Korian and Hawk took.
If I can find the two rogues at least I'll have acomplished something.
The muscular elf bent to the unfamiliar task of tracking, searching the edge of the open area, and cursing himself for not paying more attention when his father was trying to teach him this important skill.
Having found what he believed to be the signs of an elf passing through the brush, Luthien straightened a look of cold determination on his severe features. Checking his weapons and equipment he stepped out of the clearing and began to follow the elf tracks wherever they might lead. He would find his Brother Wolves and make his journey mean something.
Korian and Winsome
Korian and Winsome left the clearing and traveled for hours. The
pine bed gave way to more thick undergrowth and deciduous forest.
Even the tree branches grow together, making travel in the trees
difficult. Swarms of insects attack the two male Wolves as they
move through a swampy place in the forest floor. Even in the
bright of day, the forest looks black and ominous. They hear
birds and calls and howls as they echo through the forest and the
elves' broken minds are still wondering through the horror of the
previous evening. Korian and Winsome travel west, wandering
sometimes slightly south and sometimes slightly north with the
vague notion that Damien lies in that direction.
Winsome pushes through the branches of an old maple tree and below him is a small hut. The branches of the relentless forest open overhead and sunlight plays off of the surface of the thatched roof and the mud walls. An old stone chimney pokes out of the center of the hut, and smoke curls to the sky, making its way up and over the forest. Winsome and Korian are facing the rear of the hut. The door is apparently on the other side.
Holding his hand up to halt Korian, Winsome whispers into his companion's ear, "I will scout the house. Wait here in case I find trouble."
Nodding to his friend Winsome fades into the trees and silently approaches the back of the hut. Once there he procures a small brass funnel from his belt pouch, placing the wide end against the wall of the hut and his ear against the narrower mouth. He listens. Winsome hears through the wattle and daub of the hut wall, an old man singing an ancient elvish hymn in perfect Forest Elf:
An Ancient Invocation Hymn
Written by the Ancient Elven Bard:
Korlandra HalfMoon
The god of wood keeps his own
And give them a celestial home.
Beyond the cloud of the dark day
Is God's face smiling and gay.
Refrain:
Earth, wind, water, fire
All burned on the funeral pyre.
God the Oak and God the Spark
Will provide His elves a lark.
Refrain:
In time of need and despair
To your God you must repair.
Pray the prayer of the damned
And God will put you in his arms.
Refrain (repeated twice):
In his arms will come no harm.
In his arms will come no harm.
--End--
Winsome signals for Korian to stay where he is at the edge of the clearing, and he sneaks around to the front of the hut. Winsome rounds the front corner of the small dwelling sees a simple wooden door. The door is closed.