And here we are again! Ch. 2 of Drifter, and one that I had a great time throwing together. A note to my readers, though: I know it may seem like I'm throwing a lot of characters in willy-nilly, but it'll all come together in later chapters.

So as always, read, enjoy and review!

Shiloh grumbled as somebeast kicked his paw, rousing him from what little sleep he had managed to glean from the previous night. "Get up, lazy-arse. Time fer more thrillin' heroics." Thorben was standing over him, two shrunken apples in paw. He tossed one to the fox as he sat up groggily.

"Any more rain?" He asked moodily, trying not to think of the prospects of spending another day slogging through muddy, treacherous woodland trails.

"Thank the seasons, no." His squirrel comrade replied, gesturing to the clouds overhead. They were gray, but not the sort that foretold of storms. They were flat and listless, not the giant monsters that had menaced them before. "A bit wet, but nothin' too bad."

Shiloh grunted, nodding as he took a bite of the dried fruit. It was mushy and tasted blander than water, but it was food nonetheless. "Any word from the scouts on how far it is t' go?"

Thorben went on as they wandered to a large fire, where most of the archers had gathered. There were at least three iron pots boiling tea, and some strips of dried fishing baking over the flames. Shiloh helped himself to some of the pine-needle brew, savoring the warmth. "Not yet, but they'll probably be back within an hour or so. They said not more'n a day's march at yesterday's assembly, so hopefully we're close."

"Not any other details on the job either, I take it?" He got a shake of the head.

Shiloh grumbled quietly. Their latest contract had been a mysterious one, to say the least. It came from an anonymous client via letter, asking them to find a suitable path through the woodlands, one that would eventually lead to a dirt road running north-to-south. Once they had discovered the road, the message had said, wait for further notice. A right strange request indeed.

But the pay had been good, better than most in fact. And that was all that mattered to Shiloh, besides making sure his small troop of archers came home safely. There may have not been any hierarchy within their ranks, but he felt a sense of responsibility for the dozens of younger, more inexperienced soldiers.

It had been just over half an hour when a few beasts wandered into camp, breathing heavily and drinking from their canteens. Everybeast crowded together as the two scouts made their report.

There as a rousing cheer when they told the ranks that their objective lay not more than two hours from where they rested now. At last, no more sitting about with wet tails and cold paws. There was a clamor as everybeast rushed about to gather their equipment and make ready to depart.

Shiloh put on the small, light rucksack that held the lot of his meager possessions. Next he donned the thick belt that secured his knife, and finally the quiver filled with two-dozen goose feather-fletched arrows, tipped with either cutting broadheads or the infamous bodkins, made to punch through armor like it was rotting tree bark.

Finally, he slipped his bow from its protective cloth sleeve, which had been coated in wax to seal it from the water. He was relieved to see the honey-colored yew wood untouched by the rain. It was far more than the average hunting weapon carried by so many. This was a true warbow: As tall as his own figure when fully strung, with a draw weight that most would deem unnecessarily heavy. But most of those statements fell flat when a steel-shod arrow hit a target almost three hundred paces off.

Shiloh strung the bow with professional ease, sliding the loop at one end of the string over the nock cut into the wood. Even then, after countless seasons of practicing archery, he still got a thrill out of seeing the simple, elegant shape of a fully strung bow bent like half a crescent moon. For such a rudimentary thing, it was undoubtedly one of the deadliest on any battlefield.

The column was underway within a matter of minutes, with a few beasts volunteering to go ahead of the main force to survey the situation ahead. Shiloh and the archers took their usual spot in the center of the marchers, starting the arduous slog through more mud and water. But spirits were high, finally on their way towards payment. Even Shiloh found himself smiling a bit. Thinking of the near future, when he and his comrades would be let loose on the nearest town to drink, dance, and brawl the night away, gave him all the more incentive to pick up the pace.

Thorben lost his footing in the sludge and went face-down into the dirt. He sputtered and cursed as he sprang back up, with everybeast laughing at his expense. "Ah, shut your traps!" He said testily, pawing a glob of mud away from his chin. "I can't stand this infernal muck. How could it get any worse?"

"Easy," Shiloh said with a mocking grin. "It could be snowing, or blistering hot, or fire raining down from the heavens and seas of pestilence..."

Thorben shot him a look. "Well, it ain't, so I got every right to complain! B'sides, you're used to the weather trying t' kill you, brushtail. The Northlands aren't exactly hospitable during the...well, during any season, really."

He tossed the eaten apple core at the squirrel. "I didn't grow up in the Northlands; I lived on the North-eastern coasts. How many times have I said that?"

Thorben waved his paw in a dismissive gesture. "Wotever, it's still the same forsaken, desolate place."

Shiloh didn't respond. What the squirrel said was true. He never spoke much of his early years, mostly because he didn't care to remember them. All he could ever recall were glimpses of driving snow out of a small cabin window, and his parents huddling around the fire, but shivering nonetheless. Ten days without food, all of it had been given to Shiloh, so he could live, they had said. At least, they did before...

Much to his thankfulness, the melody of a bird's morning call snapped him out of the trance-like reverie. He looked up to the boughs of a nearby Evergreen, where a small bird had perched himself above their heads.

"Sparrow," Harsk appeared next to him, gesturing to the cream-colored breast and brown feathers. "Common in these parts, from what I been told. They won't hurt nobeast, not unless ye tweak wid their nests. Can't unnerstand a lick o' what they say, though. 's like talkin' to a..."

He stopped abruptly as the bird flinched, a small dart seeming to sprout from its chest. It tried to chirp and fly away, but its wings had hardly opened before it tumbled to the ground.

Shiloh was already looking towards the shooter with a glare of malice. Standing only a short distance away was a strange, menacing rat. He wore a thread-bare cloak; patched so many times and with so many different things that the original fabric was almost buried. The rat's black and gray fur was tattered and marred by countless scars, raw skin showing underneath. It gazed back at Shiloh with two almost colorless eyes that seemed to see right through him.

"What are you staring at, archer?" His voice was a harsh rasp, like it was a serpent speaking for him.

"Somebeast who doesn't know how to conserve ammunition," He said flatly. "Or how to keep a sensible brain inside their skull, for that matter. Maybe all those years of poisoning are finally catching up to you, Sairus. That bird wasn't doing anything to harm us."

The rat moved towards him, almost slithering over the ground with his paws. "It could have been a spy," He hissed. "Working for the native creatures in this forest. It would not be wise to let one such as that to escape. But I do not expect a creature of your station to understand such things. Now, leave my sight before I must remove you myself."

Shiloh didn't bat an eyelash. "If I remember correctly, it was you who came over here, not the other way around. So in all fairness, you should be the one to move."

Everybeast was too afraid of Sairus to laugh out loud, but it was easy enough to see the merriment starting to spread on their faces. The rat scowled at them all before spitting at Shiloh's footpaws and disappearing back into the column.

Thorben shook his head in wonder. "That's twice in the last day you've nearly gotten yerself killed by one beast or another in this company. If you're so keen on dyin', just jump off a bridge, mate. It'd go quicker."

He shook his head. "That wasn't very smart on my end, I'll admit. Especially with Sairus being in league with Macepaw. The two of them are thicker'n thieves."

Harsk, having only joined with the group two seasons ago, wasn't all familiar with what Shiloh was speaking of. "Whaddya mean? They don't seem like the most likely pair, Macepaw wit' his obsession over 'honor', an' that rat bein' a poisoner. Don't make much sense, if'n ye ask me."

"Well, we aren't askin' you, are we?" Thorben said jokingly, elbowing the ferret in the ribs. "But don't let 'em fool you. Everbeast's too afraid to ask any real questions, but we all know that they're playin' off eachother somehow."

Shiloh nodded. "As best we figure, Sairus is a kind of middle-man between clients and Krieger, who like it or not, ends up decidin' on most of the deals we take. Krieger isn't a very business-savvy, so he's got Sairus to work the details. But if somebody tries to stiff the rat, that's where Krieger steps in. No matter what we like to think, they're the unofficial leader of this little ramblin' show of ours."

Thorben blew some water off the edge of his nose after walking into a low-hanging branch. "And good luck t' anybeast who thinks they can ride roughshod over those two. I seen Krieger do things with that mace o' his that I didn't think possible." The squirrel actually shivered thinking about it. "Don't bear well dwellin' on."

They fell into silence, the sound of clinking armor and paws squelching in the mire replacing conversation. Occasionally, the mud would get so deep that it felt like they were swimming through it instead of walking. Jaws and limbs trembled from cold, and at least half of the band was sniffling, sneezing, and coughing from one kind of sickness or another. But all they could do was press on, each individual suffering silently.

Suddenly, a halt was ordered, the command echoing down their ranks. Everybeast immediately perked up at the shout that came from the front. "It's the road! We're there!"

A joyous shout rose up from the hundred or so creatures, some tossing their helmets up into the air in cheer. Soon there was a mad dash for everybeast to find a good camping spot near their journey's end.

Shiloh took a moment to examine the paw-path. It wasn't anything spectacular, with the usual signs of cart's wheels gouging out ruts in the compacted earth, and trampled foliage off to the sides. But immediately he began to notice other things; subtle indications that made him wonder.

The most obvious difference between this and most of other well-traveled roads was that this particular one seemed remarkably well-maintained. There was no garbage or debris to be spoken of, even in the ditches where it was most often heaped. The soil had been kept even, and it was clear that somebeast, or beasts, had taken the time to remove large rocks, which would have made the going much more difficult.

Another flag went up the moment he spotted the site where the company had begun to set up camp. It was a large, grassy field, which although not unusual in itself, it was far too symmetrical and well-placed to be naturally occurring. Even fruit-bearing trees and vegetation, such as blueberry and strawberry bushes, had been planted around the small meadow's edge.

"I know what you're thinkin'," Thorben said, standing next to him with the same skeptical look on his battered squirrel face. "Cuz I'm thinkin' it too."

"It's too perfect," Shiloh murmured. "Like somebeast knew we'd be here. I don't like it."

Thorben shook his head. "I dunno if they were waitin' for us, per say, but sure as the sunrise there's somebeast takin' care of this place. The question is who. Anythin' suspicious? Ambush points, blind spots, booby traps, anythin' ye see?"

Shiloh took a few long moments to scour the tree-line with his keen eyes. Plenty of natural fauna, along with the planted shrubbery, and what looked like a few logs that had been turned into a makeshift bench, but nothing sinister. "No," He said finally, sighing. "Nothing. I don't think the creatures that made this have any malcontent towards passerby. But keep an eye out, would you? I don't want to have any surprises during the night."

The squirrel nodded shortly, before setting out to find a good site for their own sleeping area. Already, the whitish gray smoke of campfires was beginning to carry above the treetops along with the sounds of conversation, singing, and rearranging of equipment as Shiloh wound his way through camp. Occasionally somebeast would look up and nod in greeting, but most just kept to themselves and their personal comrades.

He almost ran straight into their two scouts, a rat and squirrel pair. They were obviously exhausted; staggering and blinking rapidly, trying not to fall flat on their faces.

"Sorry, mate," The squirrel said, slurring like a drunkard. "We gotta head out again. Krieger said he'd 'appreciate it' if we could sweep the area 'round here to make sure it's safe." He snorted contemptuously. "All he wants it some little hamlet to loot and pillage from. After all, how else would he become such an honorable warrior?"

Shiloh frowned, feeling same taste of disgust rising up in the back of his throat again. Krieger knew that their scouts had been running ragged for days, but all he cared about was riches. Typical. "How about this," He said finally, shaking the glower from his expression. "You two go get some rest, and I'll go take a quick look about. If Krieger gets his chainmail in a twist, tell him I went in your stead. He'll be happy knowing there's a chance of me getting killed without anybeast to tell about it." In reality, there was probably little chance of him falling to any harm, but he also knew that Krieger would indeed be relishing any opportunity for Shiloh to put himself in potential danger.

The rat shrugged, already turning back towards his bedroll. "Wotever you say, cully. Good luck."

Thorben looked up in surprise as Shiloh tossed him his pack, standing in the archer's camp. "What's this for?"

Checking his arrow supply, the fox told him what had transpired moments before. "It just looked like they could use some rest," He said, throwing the quiver across the back of his shoulders. "And besides, I might be able to scrounge up something for dinner."

His friend wagged a finger in the air. "Now that there is a capitol idea! Bring back somethin' nice, would ya? Roasted woodpigeon in a crème sauce would be nice, or maybe a grilled trout with a garnish of peppers and lime..."

The early afternoon skies were finally beginning to clear above the treetops as Shiloh wound his way through the forest, slipping through the brush as though he were part of it. Despite only having been in the area for a few days, he was already beginning to feel at home. The lofty trees and smell of fresh soil reminded him of his first days traveling, making his way east across the mountainous terrain separating the Northlands. It had been a long, hard journey, but it had also taught him skills and techniques that had kept him alive to this very day.

He held his bow ready, but with no arrow on the string. He held two shafts in his bow-paw, which kept his right free to reach for the knife on his belt if necessary. But even then, he had a feeling he wouldn't need either. These woods were peaceful and quiet, except for the occasional birdsong or chirping insect. Shiloh was beginning to enjoy this particular mission, no matter who had ordered it.

Mossflower, he had heard somebeast call the area. He wasn't sure if it was true or not, but it seemed reasonable enough. Any fallen logs or low-hanging branches were covered with the green substance, although the ground underfoot was relatively free of it.

As he kept moving forward, using what few landmarks he could see through the foliage as bearings, Shiloh noticed a rise in the land up ahead, and what looked like open ground with no trees or obstructions.

Another meadow, maybe? He contemplated to himself. After all, it wouldn't make sense to only create one of them. Settling into a low crouch, the fox began to slink towards the small hill. It had taken season after season of practice, but by now he would unconsciously move his footpaws to avoid stepping on twigs or dry leaves to stay hidden. By no means was it an easy strategy, but one he was grateful he had chosen to learn.

By the time he crested the hill, Shiloh was crawling along the ground as to not reveal his silhouette at the top of the horizon. He scanned the field ahead and was astonished to see a lone building standing there, a large stone and brick affair. But as he began to look closer, his eyes widened in amazement.

This was far more than a simple colony or settlement. The walls were constructed out of huge red sandstone blocks, most likely as thick as he was tall, Shiloh estimated. Battlements ringed the outside of the parapets, expertly carved and crafted. Inside what he could only assume was a massive inner sanctum, he could clearly make out a bell tower and a few other buildings, just as impressive as what he had already seen. There also appeared to be a substantial amount of trees inside the structure itself, presumably for food and building materials.

And despite his practical thinking, Shiloh couldn't help but be impressed by its beauty. Traveling across the land, he had seen many abandoned or derelict castles, walls haphazardly constructed out of large boulders and slabs of mortar, with little attention to aesthetics. But this building was clearly something different. The red stones caught midday's light wonderfully, and the brightly colored stained-glass windows sparkled in the sun's rays. Clearly, somebeast had put many seasons of time and effort raising this structure up from nothing.

Something else was puzzling him, a small voice in the back of his mind. Although it looked easily defendable, with the high walls and limited approaches from the woods, there wasn't a single sentry or guard standing watch atop the ramparts.

"What is this place?" He mumbled to himself, tapping his claws on the dirt. "Who builds something like this and doesn't even bother to guard it? It doesn't make sense."

He snapped out of the reverie as the warbling trill of a nearby sparrow caught his attention. Immediately, he looked towards the sound, but the bird had already alighted from the nearby perch and was flapping towards the structure, with an obvious sense of haste on its part.

Shiloh chastised himself silently as he slid back down the small rise, already beginning to run as he reached the bottom. To take so many precautions, and then be discovered by a lone bird! For all he knew, the inhabitants of the building might be waiting for a chance to take some sort of prisoner, or just kill him for the sake of it. After all, he had no experience in this part of the region. If it was anything like the north, beasts would slay another simply out of caution and worry for their own lives. 'Strike first and ask questions later' was the unofficial motto.

He arrived back at camp shortly thereafter, breathing hard and pawsore. As soon as he entered the grounds, it was obvious that something had changed while they were gone. Beasts were hastily checking equipment and sharpening weapons, all with grim looks on their faces.

Shiloh found Thorben rubbing wax over the string of his short, but powerful recurved bow. "What's going on?" He asked, still panting.

The squirrel kept talking as he went through his quiver. "Second part of the job came through a couple of minutes ago. We're to head north on the road until we come to somethin' that looks like a castle and...well, er..."

The fox's heart had leapt into his throat. "What? What do we have to do?"

"We're to hold it under siege 'till the beasts inside surrender."

He almost felt like throwing up. Leaning down, Shiloh spoke frantically into the squirrel's ear. "Mate, I'm telling you the honest truth here. I saw that place, not more than half an hour ago."

Thorben looked up sharply. "Shiloh, I swear on all that's holy, if ye're lyin' to me..."

He shook his head. "I'll put my oath on it, friend. It's nestled in the woodlands, probably not more than half a league north of here. I could only see one side of it, but..." He exhaled slowly. "A siege won't do much."

Describing the building, Shiloh could see the look on his comrade's face change. As he finished, Thorben ran a paw over his face, trying to compose himself. "So what you're sayin' is...it ain't possible?"

"Not in this lifetime," He said after making sure nobeast was listening in. "And not with what we've got here. Has anybeast said anything against it?"

Thorben scoffed. "And tweak off Krieger? Not on your life, mate. But I saw him after a bird flew into camp and gave him the second letter. His got all giddy, mutterin' about bein' the richest beast in this ruddy lot. Sairus perked up a bit too, grinnin' like a madbeast."

Shiloh walked alongside him as the two went to assemble with the rest of the group. "Something isn't right here, I can feel it. We don't even know anything about who lives in that place! Knowing our luck, it'll be a bunch of trained knights, hell-bent on destroying us as soon as the first arrow flies."

Thorben offered a shrug. "Not much we can do, the way I see it. This 'client' didn't tell us much. Didn't even give us a reason fer layin' a random castle under siege. But o' course, Macepaw ain't one to pass up a chance for slaughter an' carnage."

Harsk joined them in their routine spot, carrying two full bags of arrows along with his own quiver. "Hate bein' the arrow-runner," he grumbled, shifting the weight lashed on his back. "Just a walkin' target, wid' all these fletchings stickin' up like flags over me head."

Shiloh managed a small grin. "Well, better than being in Krieger's assault platoon. I'll take a bow and bit of concealment over running pell-mell towards a fortified castle any day."

They finally got underway, hundreds of paws beating a cacophony on the dirt road. On a normal day, somebeast would have struck up a marching song in order to keep pace, but there was none. Most were too worried over the lack of information about their contract to speak. They hadn't been told how many fighters there might be, how long they had to stay there, not even what sort of defenses they might have! There was far too much uncertainty for most beasts' liking.

Shiloh could hear beasts talking at the head of the column. It was some of Krieger's closer allies, trying to spur confidence in the skeptical ranks.

"Come on, you lilies, it'll be a breeze!"

"They'll be tremblin' in their fur by the time we get there!"

"Move, you lot! The sooner we get there the sooner we finish it, sooner we finish sooner we get to break out the kegs and have a right ol' bash!"

One of them passed the archers. Instead of the inspirational speech he had given the rest, he grinned savagely and slid a claw over his throat, cackling. Shiloh just stared at him coldly until the pine marten shriveled and left.

It was early evening by the time somebeast called a halt. Half a dozen beasts were picked to run ahead and find out how long it would be until their destination. It had only been a matter of moments before they all came sprinting back, spreading word as fast as they could. "Get off the road! Into the woods, hide! Somebeast's coming!"

All fivescore creatures rushed to hide themselves as best they could, dashing off into the forest. It was a maneuver that took considerable skill to execute well, but the benefits were worth the time spent practicing. Everybeast knew that surprise would be the key to their victory, as anybeast who saw them would have time to prepare their defenses, something the mercenaries could not afford.

Shiloh nestled himself underneath a thick heather bush. From where he was, he was facing at a slight upward cant, since the road was raised a tad above the actual ground.

But even from there, he could already begin to make out the sounds of footsteps on the path, along with somebeast humming. He couldn't see it yet, as the road curved to the right about a spearthrow's length ahead. All he could do was sit, wait, and pray that they remained unseen.

After a few moments of agonizing patience, Shiloh finally caught sight of the figure. It was hard to make out precise details, but it was obviously a mouse. He wore a simple green robe over his hazel-colored fur, coming up to just above his footpaws. In one paw he held a small basket while the other swished alongside his body in the carefree manner of a beast in his native turf.

Shiloh was puzzled by the beast's strange attire. He thought he could recall a distant memory of seeing something like that garment before, but the thought slipped away. He chose instead to focus on watching the beast before him, who now was beginning to walk past the hidden fighters. Shiloh was ready to breathe a sigh of relief when the mouse suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, a curious look on his face. He leant down and picked something up, turning it over in his paws.

The fox seethed with anger as he examined the object; it was a thick glove, with chain-maille rings sewn onto its back. Curiosity turning to worry on his face, the mouse began to walk back from the direction he came.

What happened next would forever haunt the fox. Somebeast on the opposite side of the road must have shifted position, and even from his spot, Shiloh could hear the snap of a dry stick like thunder in the quiet afternoon.

Time slowed to a crawl. The mouse turned towards the sound, almost immediately noticing the metal armor and weapons shining dully in the light. He remained frozen in place for a split second before dropping the basket and turning, starting to sprint down the path.

Shiloh was already moving by the time a frenzied shout came from none other than Macepaw himself. The weasel leapt out of the ditch, pointing his massive weapon at the retreating beast. "Bring him down!" he screeched, "Don't let him escape!"

Stopping on the precipice of the trench, Shiloh slid an arrow from his quiver and set it on the bow without looking. As he brought the weapon to bear, however, he realized something was wrong. Instead of the deadly broadhead which would have immediately stopped anybeast in its tracks, there was a needle-tipped bodkin. It would be painful, no doubt, but not with the killing blow that was needed unless precisely aimed.

Too late to change now, he thought grimly to himself as he drew the string in one swift motion. After so many seasons of archery, it wasn't even necessary for him to aim down the shaft. It was all instinct, feeling and knowing where the arrow would go. He placed an imaginary target in the center of the fleeing mouse's back and began to let the string roll off his fingers.

Two things happened in very short order as the string leapt forward. The mouse turned around to see if he was being pursued, twisting ever so slightly. Then, Krieger roared once again, as loud as his lungs could manage. "Kill him!"

The sudden noise was enough to make Shiloh flinch ever so slightly. He could only watch in despair as the arrow launched itself from the bow, spinning towards the target.

Shiloh winced, more out of embarrassment than anything else, as the fine-headed arrow buried itself in the creature's shoulder. It was far from a lethal wound; the mouse yelped in pain, and one arm suddenly went limp, but he kept running. He disappeared around the bend in the path just as Shiloh fit another arrow to string.

"Paeska!" Shiloh rarely cursed, especially from the ancient language of his family. But when he did, it was with full fury. Such things were not said lightly. "You bloody arsehead!" He shouted, turning on Krieger. "That was your fault! I had him, and you had to go and jump the string!"

The weasel looked to be on the brink of splitting the fox's head open, trembling in rage and clutching his mace tightly. "Shut your insolent mouth! You'll pay for that mistake later, I swear on it." He roared to the rest of the troops. "Everybeast, assemble on me! We're going to cut that little nuisance down!"

Moving like a tidal wave of armor, they all converged on the path and began to sprint as fast as their legs would carry them. Dust rose in a great cloud above their heads like a malevolent specter. War-cries and shouts began to cut through the air.

Everybeast suddenly froze as the great building appeared around the corner. Some stood frozen to the spot, while others slowly began to lose momentum in their charge. A few souls, desperate for any chance to prove themselves to be true warriors, roared and charged towards the massive gate barring their way.

Without warning, a hail of slingstones began to rain down on them, seemingly from nowhere. The rocks cracked armor and bone, sending at least five beasts down and driving the rest off in short order.

Shiloh realized what was happening. "Pull back!" He shouted while gesturing to his archers to ready their bows. "Pull back, stay away! They can't get us from this far!"

He nocked another arrow to the string, glancing about at the other yeobeasts to make sure they followed. "Archers!" He shouted, turning back to the structure in order to pick out a target. "Ready, aim, loose!"

Angling the bow to what he best guessed was the correct angle; Shiloh let the string slip from the tips of his fingers, feeling it slap against his wrist a blink of an eye later. A score of strings followed, releasing their missiles with a loud twang! The shafts sped into the sky, reaching towards the clouds before beginning to fall back to earth.

He was already drawing again as the first volley came down behind the walls. He thought he could hear distant screams, but forced the sound from his head and continued loosing.

The string stung his arm four more times before he shouted to the beasts behind him. "Cease fire, cease fire! Retreat, back into the woodline, everybeast!"

Those not already diving for cover followed his direction, fleeing for the protection of the trees. Shiloh took a glance over his shoulder at the walltops, desperately trying to learn how many beasts they were up against. Under the circumstances, he could only guess at approximately a dozen or so.

Beasts were already beginning to lick their wounds and take account of the situation by the time Shiloh arrived. He was immediately searching out the archers, taking stock of the situation.

"Here's the scenario," he said, drawing a rough sketch of the building and surrounding woods with a stick, using the dirt floor as a canvas. "That main gate here faces the west, towards the path. I don't think we want to go anywhere near there. It's far too open. But the surrounding woodlands," he said, gesturing around them, "are perfect. If we surround them on three sides, north, south, and east, we should be able to keep them bottled up. Thorben, how many yeobeasts do we have in all?"

The squirrel was still waving his paw where a stone had nicked him. "Guessing just a bit over a score, not many."

Shiloh nodded to himself. "Right, then. I want six or seven beasts on each side, well-hidden and out of their sling range. Keep on alert, but don't fire unless they start first. Remember, we're keeping them under siege, not trying to break in. If you see anybeast coming out of there trying to make a run for it, end them. Agreed?"

He got an affirmation from everybeast before sending them on their way. Harsk and Thorben stayed, however, seeing the mischievous glint starting to glow in Shiloh's eye. "What are you thinkin' at, mate?" The squirrel said tentatively. "I can see those gears turnin'."

The fox tried to hide the grin starting to form on his face. "It's an odd thing, keeping a bunch of creatures under siege for no reason. It only makes sense that Mister Client eventually wants us to conquer this place. After all, why else would we do it? The way I'm seeing things, it could save a lot of beasts' time and pain to find some way inside ourselves."

Harsk didn't even try to conceal his dislike of the plan. "I don't know, mate. Ain't our place, we're just doin' the job. Let the wackjob who 'ired us do things 'is way. If'n he wants us t' stand outside this place until our fur turns gray, then fine by me. So long as I'm gettin' paid at the end of it all."

Thorben patted him on the shoulder like an older beast addressing a child as he began to walk towards the already sputtering cooking fire. "Sometimes it's better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, sonny. Ye'll learn that right quick."