His senses were heightened by a disturbing watchfulness which seemed to have no source, and it gave him cause to wonder. Was it the Enemy? Was it the riven Lore itself? Was it the Netherworld, as it struggled for mastery over the Earth Mother? Was is the Earth Mother Herself who watched the Elves’ every movement? Yet he felt that such words did not suffice; that the truth was profound beyond reckoning, like Prophesy itself.
Three days later they reached the place where the town of Narvi had been. The air was still permeated by the acrid smell of burning, and wisps of smoke still writhed skyward like wraiths. The noisome pall of death, a sickly-sweet, gangrenous odour, had attracted all manner of gangrel carrion-feeders; often the ground beneath them seemed to writhe with rats, as though the earth itself were a maggot-ridden corpse. Their horses nickered and blew with loathing, placing their hooves with care; those soldiers on foot paced the ground like men forced to walk upon snakes, watchfully staring their grim mistrust of it.
Despite their discomforture, the Thane’s army halted at the sound of pounding hooves coming from behind them. Their ranks parted, allowing the single rider to approach the Thane. It was a scout they had feared lost- he had been missed for several days.