O Mighty Daghda, hear my moan a brief while: Our brats are soaked, our spearpoints dull, our stomachs empty and our every sinew sore with weeks of running beside stag, following thrush-song, hunting for venison, crouching in underbrush and sleeping on rocky earth. And yet...

How wonderful to live such a life. We of the Fian of the Coiri Filiochta are part wizard, part wolf, all warrior. The world is our natural habitat, and we live as we may. If it were not for our recently lost prey and my longing to return home to Inver Colpa, I could easily live out the rest of my days a huntsman of the Fianna.

Our prey - a league of bandits - had long been just inches ahead of us but, by the Wyrd's will, suddenly escaped, putting several hides worth of land between us.

Our champion Cormar has returned to the Keep. His duty to the Rian comes before all else; his place is there. I envy him. I see uncertainty and hints of despair in Felann's eyes, but I pretend not to notice.

My brothers of the hunt walk wearily through the downpour, but I stride briskly through them, giving their shoulders a chummy punch, as I pass each one. I adjust the shield slung across my back. "We're close, lads," I say more to myself than to anyone else. "We aren't merely idle adventurers. We've a purpose, and our reward is Homecoming."