We rode for the next three days, moving higher into the mountains. The horse galloped at full speed, never seeming to tire from his exertions and we stopped only for lunch and to camp at night. The days were growing shorter and the nights colder as we traveled, and several times we would burst from the tree line into barren rock, populated only by sparse, wiry grass. At night, our fire was larger in a vain attempt to keep warm before turning in for a night's sleep on the hard, rocky ground.

On the fourth day, we stopped at lunch time and set up a camp so I could try my hand at some more hunting. By sundown I had managed to drag a small deer and a couple of rabbits back to camp. I lay down, exhausted and let the shaman take care of preparing the meat. I awakened when he shook my shoulder and offered me a plate of delicious smelling food. I noticed the broad smile on his face, the first I had seen since cutting him down from the tree.

"What's so funny?" I growled sleepily at him.

"This is a good omen," he replied, sticking a huge piece of meat into his mouth.

"What is?" I asked as I picked at my food.

"The deer you brought back," he replied between bites. "It's young and tender and its meat will give you the youth and speed of the deer, as well as its sense of smell and alertness to danger. It also means that your pale riders' power may be waning since it wasn't scared off by their passage."

"Maybe we're not following their trail," I frowned at him.

"Then what is your horse following?" the shaman asked. "He seems pretty sure of himself and from what I can see, he's following the pale riders' path exactly."

"How can you tell they've been past here?" I demanded. "I haven't seen any signs of their passage."

"The signs are there if you know what to look for," explained the shaman calmly. "They're not readily visible unless you have the requisite knowledge and know what to look for."

"And what do the signs tell you?" I asked sourly.

"That we are getting close," he said, "and that they are wounded. This is both good and bad, because being wounded, they aren't as strong as they once were. On the other hand, a wounded animal is a dangerous one, so you will have to be careful."

I considered the shaman's words in silence. After I finished the meal, I arose and gathered more firewood from nearby to stoke the fire some more. I felt a coldness inside that I hadn't felt in a long time and couldn't seem to get warm, no matter how hot the fire was. I slept fitfully that night, getting up several times to check sounds I swore had come from the underbrush around us.

The next morning, we set off again after a large breakfast. The horse continued to gallop higher into the mountains and now there was snow on the ground where the trees provided constant shade. We stopped for a brief lunch, staying in the weak sunlight in an effort to stay warm. The horse was skittish and impatient to be on his way and we soon obliged him. That night the shaman cooked a stew for us using the snow in the area for water. We had a roaring fire that kept us warm through the night and were up early the next morning to continue our travels.

The day was cloudy and growing colder as we traveled steadily northward. We saw the occasional flash of lightning and heard the far off rumble of thunder as we continued our climb. Shortly after noon, we crested a mountain and were hit by a blast of gale force winds that almost tumbled us from the back of the horse. We clung to the horse as he plunged down the side of the mountain, his feet never making a misstep or sliding out of control. By evening, we were in a valley at the bottom of the mountain and the air was noticeably warmer. We made camp for the night and I slept on a bed of pine needles that felt heavenly after the hard rocky ground of the mountain top.