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fomorians get close enough to Dundalis for my son and his friends to see, they will be as well off out in the woods as in the village.”
    Shane McMichael did not argue the point, though the weight of it grew steadily on his shoulders. Since Honce-the-Bear had been at peace for many years—and goblins and evil giants receding from the thoughts of most people to become little more than fireside tales—Dundalis had not been built for defense. The village was not even walled, as earlier settlements near the Wilderlands had been, and the folk were not well armed. The hunting party of twelve had carried with them more than half the total real weapons of the hundred folk of Dundalis. Olwan was right, Shane McMichael knew, and he shuddered with the thought; if the goblins got close enough for Elbryan and the others to spot them, then all the village would be in danger.
    Olwan started away, and McMichael calmed and moved to follow. He really didn’t think any goblins would come; none in the village except for pessimistic old Brody Gentle spoke of such darkness.
    The patrols began that day, with a. score and five youngsters walking the rim of the bowl-shaped vale that held Dundalis. There was one other patrol, a handful of older teenagers, venturing further out, down among the pines and fluffy caribou moss to the northeast. Each of this group nodded respectfully at his younger counterparts as he passed them on the rim; some mentioned that Elbryan’s patrols would serve as their vital liaison with the village proper. After that exchange of compliments, even the passing of endless uneventful hours could not dampen the thrill for the youngsters. Elbryan and his friends were not being left out this time, were not being treated as mere children.
    As each day slipped past—the weather growing a bit colder, the wind shifting more to the north—the twenty-five in Elbryan’s group perfected their patrol routes. Elbryan split them into four teams of five and one of three, which would move from group to group gathering information, while he and Pony served as anchor to them all, holding a position along the highest ridge directly north of Dundalis, overlooking the valley of evergreens and caribou moss. There were several complaints about this arrangement at first, mostly from the older boys who thought that they should serve as Elbryan’s second. Some even resorted to teasing Elbryan about his growing relationship with Pony, prompting him to “ride the Pony,” and other such crudities.
    Elbryan took it all in stride, with the exception of any insults to Pony, which he promptly informed the teasers would bring them serious and painful retaliation. He didn’t care about their teasing him though, having at last admitted, to himself and openly, that Pony was his best and most-trusted friend.
    “Let the children have their fun,” Elbryan, coming into manhood, whispered to Pony as the groups split up.
    When he wasn’t looking her way, when he had moved off to set up a windbreak of dead wood, Pony regarded him knowingly, a warm smile spreading over her face.
     
    Something else watched the young man from a perch in one of the thicker pines on the ridge. It moved nimbly from branch to branch, crossing over to nearby trees with barely a whisper. It shadowed Elbryan’s every move, studying the young leader intently.
    To Pony and Elbryan, alert as they were, the creature was invisible and unnoticed. Even if they had looked intently the creature’s way, its movements were so fluid and graceful—and always under the cover of pine boughs—that they would have considered the sway of the branches no more than the movement of the wind or a gray squirrel, perhaps.
     
    Another week passed by uneventfully. Work in the village was at full pace, readying for winter. On the ridge and in the vale beyond, the primary enemy became boredom. Elbryan lost half a dozen of his patrol at the beginning of that second week, the youths explaining that their