A Farmer's page

I fish my sling out of my pocket and seat a bullet in it. "Show me. What kind of beast?"

Ruano will follow the man back to his farm. His sling is in his right hand, and his left is gripping the saddle horn. He's eager to help, but he's dubious that the man is merely having problems with wolves or some other natural consequence.

"I do not know what kind of beast did this," says the farmer, as he leads you a half mile across a nearby field. "I think one of the cows is sick or wounded. It was lying on its side, but still moving and making some kind of noise. And not a normal sound for a cow, neither."

"My cattle! Some terrible thing has killed my cattle, and is eating them!"

"Help! You must help me! Please friend..."