Vors, indeed, is weary from his long day on the palisades. He comes to the same conclusion as Perrin. "If we get that wrapped up first thing in the mornin', then we're going to do what we can to make the houses across the river as unappetizing as possible."
", I think yer more of an engineer than me. We need to be thinkin' of a way to drop the bridge if worst comes to it? Not my preference, by any means, but worth considering."
- - - - - - - - - -
That night, Vors goes back to Halak with a couple of the others as backup.
He holds up a small loaf of bread to the shaman and says, "As best you can, in the common tongue, describe this "karak" for me. What's it look like? How does it fight? What do we need to bring it down?"
Aye, I'll look inta the bridge tomorrer. Right now, I need a few hours o' shuteye. Defenses are comin' along, we kin finish up the stretch next t' the river tomorrer, n' a gate. Mebbe set some traps if we have time.
Vors grunts at Hirda. "Good. Tomorrow will be fine. Let me know if you think it's worth rigging to catch on fire. Maybe the good doctor can rig something up for us along those lines. If the orcs end up coming that way, we might be able to take a few of them out before we just strand them on that side." After another moment's thought, he adds, "Maybe a pit on the far side, too, to catch the first of them that tries to come across. Slow them up just enough, that way."
Catching Mel, he asks, "Can you help organize a watch from those who still have a little yet to give today. I'll be up organizing for a little while, after I finish with Halak, but then I'll need some sleep before tomorrow's work."
- - - - - - - - - -
After he questions the prisoner , Vors will make an account of the days events, and prepare a more accurate summary of what the town has available for resources. Late in the evening, he turns in for the night.
Not needing to sleep, Pebbles can accompany whoever is on watch.
Perrin, meanwhile, will accompany Vors as he questions the shaman. All this talk of the "karak" has piqued his interest.
Halak grunts at your question and looks at the ground silently for a few moments. Then he lifts his head but seems to be looking past you.
Karak like human or orc but bigger. Much bigger. Fight with tooth and claw. Karak fight no matter what. No fear for wounds. Heal always. Gornak afraid of Ukar karak so Gornak get karak dog. Lose three warriors to catch and train but Gornak stubborn.
He falls silent for a moment, indecisive about this next part, but then resumes speaking.
Halak see what karak can do. When Halak small, karak attack village. Kill lookouts... Heal. Kill women... Heal. Kill warriors... Heal. Kill chief... Heal. Kill old... Heal. Kill young... Heal... Halak run from fight when all clanfolk shooting, stabbing, slashing. Old women walk bad to Karak and stab in leg. Karak heal and kill. Small orcs barely walk and bite at karak feet. Heal and kill... Run for days. Karak no see me. Find Gornak tribe... Halak never forget.
With his hands bound, he barely manages to lift the edge of his shirt, exposing a belt of scars around his waist. They seem to be some sort of complex tally marks.
Halak never run again.
Ok I'll assume you both are awake at this time of night. Roll perception checks for me.
Vors grunts, silenced by the description. He purposefully ignores Halak’s admission of cowardice, and says “Sounds like a damn terrible foe for us to face, Halak. That karak dog was tough enough - this thing is even bigger? Hells fires, that’ll be a fight to see. Here, chew on this. I might need more information from you tomorrow, and I don’t want you to pass out from hunger.” He tosses the bread into the stall, leaving the shaman’s gag off so that it can scooch forward and chew on the loaf with its hands bound. He also fills a low trench of water, one for the sheep, and put it in the stall with the shaman.
Turning to the others, Vors asks, “This karak sound like anything you’ve heard of before? Any lore or stories you’ve heard of that could help us fight it?”
Karak is the orc word for troll. In general, trolls have the following statistics.
The night seems quiet and calm. Neither Perrin, Mel, nor any of the other Brooksider's on watch notice anything.
The morning dawns in Brookside. Despite being dead tired, most of the villagers are up with the sun, displaying dark circles under every eye. Sleep did not come easily in Brookside last night.
Vors' dreams were plagued by visions of a mighty beast rampaging through an orc encampment. In it, the encampment was laid out exactly like Brookside, with the karak demolishing every building and person it approached. When he later recalls the part of the dream where a silent Halak slips away from the Falchen barn, holding a bleeding side, Vors feels more than a touch of pity for the shaman. A pity that he cannot share with Halak if he ever needs more information.
After a quick breakfast, Vors heads out to gather the working villagers. "Hirda, you take a look at that bridge. I think I know what I'm doing from here out to help the others finish up work on the palisade. We should be done before midday, but come check before you break for your next meal to make sure we haven't bungled this up too much."
He'll grab as many workers and mules as he needs, laden them with tools, and get the last holes in the palisade patched up for the defense.
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Stiff, but rested, Mel clambers down from the guard post and makes her way through faint swirls of morning mist to Perrin's house.
She knocks at the door. "Perrin?" she says. "Are you up? It's Mel."
She waits awkwardly.
Perrin wakes early and prays, preparing his spells for the day. Then he gets to work on his next alchemical project: treating several iron rods with a few choice ingredients and leaving the ends to smolder in his fire.
When he hears Mel's knock he steps quickly to the door, peering out into the mist. "Oh, hey Mel! Is everything alright?"
"I came to collect that turpentine," she says. "May I come in?"
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Hirda treats herself to a relaxing dip in the local hot springs, and a short night's sleep. She awakes feeling rejuvenated from the previous days' hectic events. After pondering over the bridge for several minutes, she responds to Vors:
Bridge is gonna be in need o' replacin' in a few years anyhow. Twould be a fair trap, drop the orcs in the drink n' slow 'em down, leave 'em sittin' ducks in the water fer our archers. Fire's no good--too slow, unless Perrin's got some sorta wizard-fire t' torch it. Tis an easy feat t' saw mostway through the main joists on either end, a little more trouble in the middle. So three weak spots, then drive in some wedges attached t' a rope er chain on this side, pull'em oot at the right time, n' send them orcs inter the drink.
"Perfect, Hirda. I'll leave you to it." The old warrior claps her on the shoulder and heads for the palisade.
"Right, sure!" Perrin opens the door wide and leads her into his lab. He scans the cluttered table for a moment before spotting the container of finished turpentine, which he presents to Mel with a grin. "It should be all ready to go," he remarks proudly, "but let me know if you need any more."
"Thank you," Mel says.
She glances over at the demonic runes inscribed on the wall, then turns her gaze back to the doctor with challenge in her eyes. "Perrin," she says. "What on earth ever made you think it would be a good idea to worship Haagenti?"
Perrin's grin fades to a sad smile and he exhales heavily, turning to face the table by the window. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence. "I'm a pretty good doctor," he says finally, speaking softly but with purpose. "I usually know what I'm doing." His hand comes to rest on a thin wooden rod, lying amid the clutter of the table's surface. "But this stick of wood can heal injuries in seconds that would otherwise take me days. And without Haagenti, it's worthless. Just one more piece of kindling."
He lets go of the wand and reaches for another object on the desk, a flask of some swirling crimson substance. "See this?" He raises it up to the window, and it glints in the early morning light. "This is a flask of liquid fire, and it enhanced the spell that burned the orc camp to the ground. You know who invented this? Haagenti."
He sets the flask on the table and turns away, still not quite facing Mel. "If you get bitten by a snake, Mel, I don't have to guess what antidote you need, I can know. If you come down with a bad fever, I don't have to hope you're strong enough to pull through, I can make you strong enough." He starts pacing back and forth, turning in tight circles to match the confines of the narrow room. His voice is defiant now. "If your plow is broken, I can make it whole. If your food is spoiled, I can make it clean. If your body is frozen, I can make it warm."
"And in times like these..." He stops moving, and a look of anguish comes over his face. "Mel, you weren't there for that fight with the orcs. But who do you think was responsible for the webs that bound them, the flames that burned them, the elemental that held them at bay? If I had been weaker, Noln could be dead. If I had been stronger, Cyrus could be alive." His voice has taken on a desperate, pleading tone.
"And by this time tomorrow? We might all be dead, unless we're strong enough to stop it." He turns to face Mel directly, meeting her eyes for the first time. "Mel, don't you see? I worship Haagenti because this town needs him."
"Only a fool would dispute that Haagenti offers power," Mel says. "But Perrin, there are a dozen others out there who would give you those same powers at a far, far lower price." She paces back and forth counting on her fingers. "You want to heal? Sarenrae specializes in that, and the price she demands is honesty. For that matter, so do Bolka, Dalenydra, Immonhiel, Irori, Isis, Korada, Lythertida, Milani, Pharasma and Vildeis."
"You want clever inventions? The empyreal lord Bharnarol can help you with that, and what he wants in exchange is to sequester dangerous artifacts. Or how about Torag, or Brigh, or probably a dozen others?"
"Meanwhile, Haagenti is all about twisting things into vicious mockeries of what they once were. He spreads lycanthropy for the joy of watching innocents murder their loved ones. He invented fleshwarping magic, Perrin, because apparently there weren't enough monsters in the world. When his price comes due, it will be steep."
"It's true the town needs help. But it doesn't need Haagenti. Honestly? I'm more worried now about this than about the orcs. All they can do is kill our bodies. Your master can do far worse to us, body and soul."
Perrin stares at Mel, seeming sincerely confused. "Do you think I didn't try that?" He takes a shaky breath. "I prayed for months after the last doctor died, and not one of those gods you named lifted a finger to help us. Maybe they don't pay attention to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, or maybe I'm just not good enough... it doesn't matter. I wish one of them had answered my call, I wish one of them had granted me this power, but they didn't. Haagenti did."
"And yeah, I know he's evil, you don't have to convince me of that. I know he does all sorts of horrible things. But that doesn't make the help he can give any less important. It's awful that he creates driders and lycanthropes that kill people, but they'll still be killing people whether I worship him or not. He can do unspeakable things to our souls, sure, but he could do those things anyway."
Perrin pulls out his chair and sits down, looking up at Mel and managing a tentative smile. "Look, I get that this is weird and scary. If you want to talk about the dangers you see and how to protect against them, I'd be happy to listen. But I'm not going to sit by and let people die when I have the power to help them."
"I can't speak for the gods. I don't know why they didn't answer your call. But Haagenti's kind of help, in the long run, isn't help." Mel says.
"And I want you to know, right now, that I want no part of it! I don't want your spells, or your potions, or anything, not even to save my own life. And if you try to use any of your skills on me, I will resist to the best of my ability. You may be well-intentioned, but your master most emphatically is not."
She moves to picks up the turpentine; then hesitates and leaves it. She turns to go; then pauses and looks back.
"Haagenti is subtle, and he loves twisting things. Had it occurred to you, Doctor, that he answered your call because he saw an opportunity you did not? Every time you call on his power, you expose your patients to him directly. How easy it would be for him! With every wound healed, the seed of some future disease planted. With every cough cured, a corruption sown until at some point he decides ..." she snaps her fingers, "to waken those seeds and let them grow. It would be just his style: to turn a doctor who wants nothing more than to heal ... into the vector of a greater plague. Think on that, Perrin."
And with that, she lets herself out, shutting the door with a definitive click behind her.
Hirda gets to work on the bridge with some of the villagers, sawing away at strategic portions. A young man is let down over the side of the bridge with a rope around his waist to saw the middle joist.
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'At's right, jus leave a thread hangin'. We got everbuddy on this side already, right? No more'n one person on the bridge at a time from here on out, eh. Now shove in some wedges there. Here's a rope, run it across the edge like so, t' keep it from bein' too obvious. 'Tis a cryin' shame, I kin 'member puttin' up this bridge, replaced the ol' bridge what got washed out in the floods o' ought-eight. Me little Lemuel fell in afore we got the railin's in, nearly was done fer 'cept fer the ratfolk jumped in after 'im, twas Squeaky's grampa as I recall. We dwarfs never was much fer swimmin'. Well, nothin' fer it now, we'll git a new bridge put back up agin soon enuff.
Before he gets to work on the palisade, Vors calls his family together. For a few moments, there outside the house he's not sure what to say, then Jael pipes up, "Papa, what are we going to do today?"
He looks down at the young girl, and tears brim in his eyes. He's struck by a memory of her, just a couple years of age, when she found such great delight in throwing a ball of cloth down from the hay loft to her big brother, Kelian. The image in his mind shifts, imperceptably, to the current figure before him throwing one of Perrin's vials of acid at a shadowy monster, all fang and claw, before the image is shattered when she says, "Papa?"
The old warrior wipes his eyes, and draws everyone in close. "Come here," he invites them to a full embrace. "We've been so busy the last two days, that it's this I've missed most." After a brief silence to enjoy it, he offers, "I'll suggest what you can all do today, but if you want to do something else, you let me know, all right? Kelian, come with me to help secure the palisade. We'll need your strength, then I've got something else to show you this afternoon." The elder son nods, dutifully, though Vors notes the lad's fleeting glance towards the Golightly's home.
To the girls "Jael, Karia, get the animals fed and watered, then grab every bucket and trough you can find and get them here on the road where they're obvious. We'll be needin' them around town in case there's fires to put out." They nod into his shirt, eyes just as wet as his.
To his youngest, barely more than a boy, "Vargos, you head over to office. Tell him I sent you to be a runner or assistant for whatever he needs help with today. If he doesn't have anything for you, you come back and help your mother. No time for play today - be quick about it."
Vargos squirms a bit at this, saying, "Dad, his... rock pet? That thing kinda... you know... it ain't right."
Vors sighs, and ruffles the boy's hair. "Fair enough, son. Give it a wide berth unless the good doctor sets you near it. Just do as he asks."
With that, he releases the children, "All right, get to it. I'll speak with your mother. We'll all lunch back here." As the children run off to their responsibilities, he turns to his wife of so many years. Thousands of memories clamor for priority, each trying to assert their importance over the other as the one that sealed his love for her. They blur together, like ripe wheat waving in the sunlight, and coalesce back into the wonderful woman before him. She gives him another hug, a kiss on the cheek, and then a simple, "See you at lunch, love," before going back to the house and Goodwife Higgins' company.
Vors stares wistfully for a moment, wanting nothing more than to just enjoy tea with his wife, but then turns and heads to work on the palisade, resolving to thoroughly enjoy lunch later today.
After Mel leaves, Perrin spends most of the morning in relative solitude, working on the sunrods in his lab.
Later in the morning, he heads out to help put the finishing touches on the palisade with a few more castings of mending. Pebbles continues to work as well, mostly just hauling materials around with his disproportionate strength.
Mel makes her way to the smithy, where she gets out the materials she'll need for a day's crafting. Not long after, her students straggle in. Joran is there, looking mulish and defiant -- Mel guesses there must have been hard words between him and his father. They all look tired, especially the halfling Susy Nolton, whose eyes have deep black smudges underneath.
"All right," Mel says. "Yesterday I taught you to make arrows. Today I need you to keep doing that. Make as many as you can; try for steady, not fast. Going fast tends to lead to more mistakes, which slow you down. It's better to keep moving than stop and start all the time. If you have any questions, please ask; I'll be here, but I need to focus on making bows today. Arrows are no good without bows to shoot them from."
The teens nod their heads and set to it. Their yawns subside a bit as they wake up fully, but there is little conversation beyond "Pass the thread," and similar functional comments.
Susy continues to struggle with knocking arrows. After spoiling her fifth shaft she drops her head so her hair covers her face and weeps silently.
Mel, occupied with roughing out the shape of a bow from a seasoned stave of wood, notices Susy's distress. She sets aside her drawknife and comes to sit by the child -- No, a young woman by her years, for all that she's the size of a human six-year-old, Mel corrects herself.
"Susy," Mel says, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.
Susy lifts a strained, pale face with tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. "I can't do it!" she wails. "My hands are too weak, so I press too hard, and it all goes wrong!"
"Here," Mel says. "Look at this." From under her shirt, Mel pulls her necklace: a small vaguely cylindrical piece of wood, about 2 inches long. The sides are smooth, but both ends are sharp and ragged. Delicate lines of ink trace out the shape of a clump of flowers on the front, snowbells by their shape. It hangs from a leather thong.
"What is it?" Susy asks, momentarily diverted from her distress.
"This is all that remains of the first bow I ever crafted. It shattered the first time I tried to draw it. I was so proud of that bow! It was beautiful. I'd used the prettiest wood I could get, and polished it until it shone in the light. I was sure it was the best bow ever made -- and then it blew up in my face. I felt awful for weeks, and I couldn't bring myself to go back and try again. Then my teacher, Varen, showed up one day. He'd saved this bit of it and traced the flowers on it for me. He dropped it in my lap and said 'That's enough discontented winter, girl. I'll see you in the workshop tomorrow.' And so I went back. And my second bow was ugly as sin, but it pulled true."
The other students had all paused to listen. Susy nods slowly, then bites her lip. "What ... what do you think it's like to die?" she asks.
Ah, there's the real problem, Mel thinks. "Dying itself? Well ... when I have seen people die, they pay less and less attention to the world around them, until they just aren't there any more. So I think it's something you do alone. In your own head, I mean. And death itself doesn't hurt; it ends all pain. Are you afraid of dying?"
"YES!" Susy says emphatically. "Of course I am. There's so much left to do! I've never seen a city, or mountains, or tried those honey-cakes they make in Iustia, or, or kissed a boy ..."
"Then it sounds like you have a lot to do!" Mel says. "And you'll need to be alive to do it. I can't promise you that any of us will live through this -- everyone has to die sometime. But what I can promise you, Susy Nolton, is that everybody here wants to live for as long as possible, and they want you to live, so that you can visit cities and climb mountains and kiss boys and eat piles of honey-cakes. We have to try our very best to stay alive and keep each other safe."
"Are you ready to die?" Susy challenges her, refusing to be soothed with platitudes.
Mel reaches to her side and draws the dagger she purchased the day before. She lays it on her open palm. Susy glances down at it, then up.
"This is my hope knife," Mel says. She gazes at it with eyes bleak as a winter field. "It's the knife I hope I never have to use. Because it's for me. If ... all is lost, I will not let the orcs have me. I will go and walk in Ostara's fields instead. So yes. I am ready to die. But I really hope not to. I still have things to do, too."
Mel sheathes the knife and retrieves her necklace from Susy's grasp. She stands, and turns back to the bows. "You should all take a quick break. Get a drink of water. Stretch your legs. Susy, when you come back, I need your help with the bows."
She picks up her drawknife and begins peeling long shavings of wood off the stave while her students quietly step outside for a moment.
Hirda's practical intelligence shines through during the bridge sabotage, leaving the old wooden structure on the cusp of collapse. Hurin Rockhill turns to her in wonder.
'irda! You shoor you've never done none o' this kind o' thing before? In the army or somethin?
The villagers avoid crossing the hazardous bridge whenever possible and only those who forgot some valuable possession on the other side of the river, such as Hurin, dare to cross it at all.
Vors' family members scatter to their tasks. Vargos isn't too pleased to be around Perrin's elemental but he manages to be polite and helpful to the town doctor. The palisade is filling out nicely as the mules are kept constantly busy hauling logs. The mules tongues start hanging out as the beasts haul log after log and help pull them upright into their holes. The mules of Brookside are unaccustomed to such hard labor and the skinny Orcish mules look as if they have been neglected and overworked for some time.
Meanwhile in the smithy, Mel works patiently at bringing bows out of the wood she has selected. Her apprentices are gone longer than she would have expected but begin straggling back in. Silent and sober, they resume their tasks with grave focus.
Every one of them is now carrying some sort of knife, however makeshift.
Mel is unutterably saddened to see all her students prepared to commit suicide if the worst happens. But since that's a choice she too has made, she understands.
"I'd just like to add," she says before the work resumes. "That I don't plan on killing myself unless there is absolutely no other option. Running and hiding sounds much better, if that's an option."
And the work proceeds.
Well fer sure, tis a might easier t' bring down a bridge than t' build it back up, sumpin' those worthless orcs'll never unnerstand. But build a new one we will, soon as we get through this trial. I even got a name fer it: The Cyrus Lem Memorial Bridge. Hopefully there aren't many more of us we'll have to memorialize as well.
Hirda heads back to the palisades and notices the mules tiring. Ay Vors, we hain't ready t' turn these mules inta glue jus yet. Give 'em a few carrots n' a short rest. N 'ere, lemme adjust yer 'arness a bit.
Mel: Susy looks up from her work and her brown eyes lock onto Mel's. With her red-blotched cheeks and a shine of barely-there tears in her eyes, she speaks in a wavering, almost challenging voice
Run and hide where? To what? I've heard what happens to an orphaned girl in Astin. Live in the woods? Starved for food and companions? Is that really better?
Hirda: Your assessment was accurate. With a short break, a tasty snack, and a small adjustment the mules are back to work with newfound energy. One of the orcish mules hesitantly nuzzles the top of your head with its broad nose and its ears seem to perk up whenever you speak to your fellow workers.
All: You hear a shrill whistle blowing from the lookout tower.
"Given a choice between being dead and being alive and free in the woods, I'll take the latter. When you're dead, that's it; but if you're alive, there's always ..." She breaks off at the sound of the whistle.
"Pitää hylättävänä," she mutters. "Get the arrows in bundles of 10 and ready to go. I'll see what's up."
Mel snatches up her own bow and arrows, and rushes out the door straight to the guard tower, eyes seeking any threat.
Perrin turns from his work on the palisade and rushes toward the front gate, looking around in panic. Pebbles follows behind, snatching his spear from its spot propped up against the wall.
Hirda runs as fast as her stumpy legs will carry her towards the lookout tower. WHAT IS IT? WHADDAYA SEE? Let's hope it's reinforcements from Astin. If it's the orcs already, we're caught with our knickers down. Where'd I leave my polearm anyway?
Taron and Whisky can be heard shouting excitedly. Perrin and Mel have trouble getting any information from them until Hirda comes up and snaps them to attention with her sharp, commanding voice. Still speaking rapidly, Whisky shouts in a squeaking voice
There was someone out in the woods!
He points South to the woods about 200 feet from the palisade. Taron shouts over him
Naw he didn't see nuthin'. There was just a glint of light.
Whisky retorts with great anger
A flash of light means steel and steel means a person!
Taron replies angrily
It just be a trick of the light, ya fool!!
Perrin gives the pair a relieved smile but still seems on edge. "Well, better a dozen false alarms then a single missed attack!" He makes some rumbling noises to Pebbles and gestures out in the direction Whisky was pointing. The elemental disappears under the ground, leaving no sign of his presence.
Mel climbs up into the watch tower with Taron and Whisky, and peers intently out into the distance.
With a 20 foot burrow speed, it will take Pebbles a while to get over there.
For a few seconds you do not see anything. Then you see a glint of light coming from a shaded area on the edge of the Warding Woods, approximately 200 feet to the south.
"There's definitely something there; I see it too. See, there! Just at the edge of the woods. I can't tell what it is though ... just a glint in the shade." She points in the direction, then pulls out an arrow and knocks it.
"Vors, shall I fire a warning shot that direction?"
Hirda sends a messenger back to the assembled townspeople, to keep them from panicking. Abby dear, run round n' let the folk know that they's in no danger. They kin git back t' their tasks, we'll send word if we need 'elp from 'em over 'ere.
Then she sets out walking cautiously in the direction of whatever it is, with her glaive readied. She'll wait to see what happens with Mel and Pebbles before she engages.
Sighing, he calls up to Mel, “Do it. Better to mend that metaphorical bridge later if it’s a friend. We’ll go announce ourselves.”
Vors heft’s his halberd and moves out into the field with Hirda. When they get closer to the woods,he bellows, “WHO GOES THERE?! You approach Brookside! We wish no ill will against peaceful visitors, but we are ready to defend ourselves.”
Mel's arrow flies true, appearing to land in the part of the woods she intended. It does not appear to have any effect. Pebbles (burrowing), Hirda, and Vors all advance at a moderate rate and reach Mel's arrow.
Near the arrows are a clear set of humanoid footprints in footwraps matching those found at the Higgins farm, leading you to believe they belong to orcs.
”Hirda, you see anything?”
Sensing vibrations from the footsteps above him, Pebbles erupts from the ground in a shower of dirt, brandishing his spear aggressively. When he sees that it's just Vors and Hirda he appears to calm down, standing eerily still as he looks methodically around the area. Suddenly, the elemental makes an urgent rumbling noise, pointing down at the ground by Mel's arrow.
Same prints as we saw t'other night at 'iggin's place. Mussa been a scout, run off at Mel's warnin'. We orter try t' waylay 'im, but I ain't built fer runnin'. Mel, Vors, if ya go on ahead I'll be right behindja. If ya hain't seen nothin' in five minutes, less 'ead back t' toon. Take care not t' run straight inta a orc camp, n' try t' take 'im alive.
"I wonder if this might be a gambit to get us out of our defenses, like General Tullian's trick during the siege of Benroe in the Second Blackthorn War," Mel says to Taron and Whisky. "I mean, that was eight centuries ago, but there's no reason it couldn't work today. Keep a sharp eye out in case there are more."
Mel looks carefully in all directions -- north, east, south, west, and up.