You can’t believe it. There’s a calm patch in the middle of the storm, and it’s drawing closer.
But it’s not empty. There’s three figures in the midst of it. You can’t make out any details, save for a bright light that seems to be coming from one of their eyes.
And they’re heading towards the wagon.
You rush back inside.
“We’re being followed,” you say. “Maybe it’s the raiders again, maybe something else. All I know is, they seem to be able to command the winds to stay clear of them.”
“We definitely don’t need another fight right now,” Corvus says.
“That depends,” Rider says. “How many were there?”
“I guess we can handle three of ’em,” Corvus says. “Or at least make enough of a show of it that we can convince them to just take the lodestone and go.”
Rider shakes his head.
“I’m afraid not. If it’s three, then I fear we have a much worse problem on our hands.”
“Well don’t be vague about it like you are about everything else,” Corvus grumbles. “If you know something, share it with us.”
“There’s no time. I’ll have to drive us through the storm.”
“You can’t do that! You’ll get sick, and so will the horses!” you protest.
“An acceptable risk. I suggest you cover the holes from the crossbows while I get everything else ready.”
And with that, he steps out.
You have no idea what the hell’s going on. Nobody else seems to, either.