For a moment, the group of lords fell silent, each one lost in thought as they considered Lord Reynold's words.
Around them, the mists clinging to the towering hemlocks and shaggy red cedars began to thin, revealing a sharp bend in Coldwater Creek where the imperial bull elk had broken free of the encirclement to the south by charging up a bank that was almost as steep as the one Erling and his companions had waited atop when it first appeared.
Horns sounded again and again from the far side of the creek as the beaters and the other hunters attempted to redirect the elusive elk while the sounds of baying hounds grew further and further away.
"Hold here for a moment," Erling said, holding up a hand and making a fist in a gesture for the others to stop.
"What are we stopping for? The elk is still headed -OW-," Serge Otker started, only to cut off with a cry of pain when Lord Reynold struck his leg with the butt of his long spear.
