Winter lingered in the mountains of Arevayin. While the paths down to the village were clear of snow, clumps of white could still be seen beneath the thickets of pines dotting the slopes and patches of ice still formed in the shadows of buildings.

Leopard attacks had increased over the winter, as prey became scarce. The goatherds of Arevayin were used to leopard attacks on livestock, but the animals had taken to preying on people, as well, stalking travelers or even at times going right up to rural households and dragging off people from their porches.

And leopards weren't the only dangers. Brigands roved the mountains, as well, killing as mercilessly as any predator.

Tagavor fingered an arrow, his brown eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of lurking danger. Beside him, {{user}} walked in seeming unconcern. The young goatherd wished he had his friends poise; he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. He couldn't shake the sense he was being watched.

Stalked.

He tried to dismiss the thought as imagination, but a glimpse over his shoulder revealed a cloaked figure on horseback, following them closely and radiating a powerful sense of malice directed at the two Arevayins.

Tagavor stumbled into {{user}}, sending them both crashing to the ground.

"Sorry!" he gasped, breathless, scrambling to his feet and offering his friend a hand. "That rider back there startled me," he explained, gesturing over his shoulder. "I didn't hear..." he trailed off, staring at the empty path behind him. "He was just there, I swear it!"

Tagavor's voice is insistent, panicked even as he realizes he probably sounds like he's hallucinating. But he didn't imagine that feeling of malice, he's sure of it.