[Envinyatar]

Carl had spoken briefly with Bullroarer earlier that morning. He had headed out, while most of the Hobbits lay dreaming under their blankets, to scout the road ahead.

The snow obscured the road and its surrounds for the most part. Filling in what few tracks there might have been, leaving only a smooth blanket of white before him. Carl ranged far afield on both sides of the road, looking for any signs of the Wargs.

Five miles out, and still clear. The weather had changed now, the sun making a brave appearance above the trees. New snow was melting from the surface of the road, running in rivulets to the edges of it, or standing in small frigid puddles in the wagon ruts.

His sharp eyes caught something a few feet away. Large, canine tracks, two different pair of them, had crossed the road heading northeast. They were lost where the two had entered the underbrush along the roadside.

He crouched down to examine them. They had been made when the dirt was wet, and would take the deep imprint of paw. Now they were frozen. It would be impossible to tell how long ago they had been made with what little information he had.

Carl stood, staring into the silent woods beyond the edges of the road, his ears alert for any signs. Nothing but the call of a small bird broke the quiet. He turned and ran back westward to where the others would soon be coming.

Bullroarer and the Ranger should know what he had found. He only hoped that the tracks were indeed old ones - that there was nothing to fear. Carl put those thoughts aside and picked up his speed with misgiving.