The Lupen convoy continued its deliberate ride down the forest path. The fog around them grew thicker, turning the world into a claustrophobic gray tunnel. Yet, none of the Lupen knights were tense; they simply closed their eyes, relying on their superior lupine senses. The heavy armor and thick fur of their wolf-beasts were impervious to the moisture and cold. Captain Joral, leading the vanguard, tracked the faint, familiar, and slightly oily scent of Foxkin manufacturing and the specific herbal essence used in their border wards.
Joral raised a gauntleted fist. The entire procession, thirty-seven knights and the heavily armored carriage, came to a dead stop in the middle of the dirt track. Joral remained motionless, his eyes still slits, and muttered, "Are you going to keep doing this, Fox? I can smell your wall from here."
