Mist clung to the forest, a memento of the chills of the night. The last few cloth-like tendrils caressed the roots of the trees, the early morning sun just offering enough heat to burn them off. A gentle breeze danced through the treetops, casting a few leaves free of their tethers to drift down to the forest floor.

The students had been summoned out to this remote clearing at the heart of the woodlands well before sunrise, Njall rousing them from their slumber and ushering them out of the castle's doors before any of the other students had begun to rise. They hadn't been told anything about their purpose out there, the looming Skelliger avoiding their curious questions. As they'd filed into the clearing, they found themselves face to face with one of the Masters of the Wolf School, the Witcher known as Harlaw. The quiet Master knelt at the centre of the clearing, dewdrops of the rising morning glistening on his shoulders as he closed his eyes and bowed his head, features serene as he focused inwards. Frederick found himself wondering just how long the Master had been out there, waiting for them. Had he endured an entire night, out in the wilds, a lone man versus the elements? The young student got the impression that such a feat would be no challenge to the Witcher before him.

Harlaw was silent for a few moments while the students gathered around him. Eventually, his eyes opened, and the Wolven Master regarded the students before him. He silently nodded to Njall, and the Master of the Nightsabers departed. Without a word, Harlaw gestured for the adepts to gather around. As Frederick dropped to his knees, he felt the damp chill of the dew underfoot, fallen leaves crackling as he shifted awkwardly. He suppressed a shiver, wishing he'd had a chance to grab some food before leaving the castle, or at least something hot to drink to help keep the frigid air of the dawn at bay. All these thoughts vanished, though, when Harlaw began to speak, the stern Wolf commanding the full attention of all present.

"Greetings, students." He voice, although smooth and low, held a power behind it that could not be underestimated. "I am Harlaw. Your Grand Master has asked of me to share some of my knowledge with you, to help you meet the challenges you will encounter out on the Path. I can teach you to face and overcome the biggest threats any Witcher will inevitably face out on the hunt."

His eyes danced from one student to the next, piercing gaze weighing each of them up carefully.

"Tell me, what do you think kills more Witchers than anything else?"

The Nightsabers hesitated for a moment, pondering his question. Eventually a couple of voices spoke up.

"Fiends."

"Vampires."

"Kikimora?"

"Bandits."

Harlaw listened to the stream of answers, shaking his head at every one.

"Wrong. The true killer of Witchers is something more subtle, and yet just as hazardous." He paused, tilting his head as he raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk haunting his features. "Hunger. Thirst. Tiredness. Cold. Heat. Rain. Any other number of things that the natural world will throw against you. These are the first enemies you must vanquish, and all too often the ones that a Witcher forgets to pay heed to. A hungry Witcher cannot strike as powerfully. A tired, thirsty Witcher cannot focus. A cold Witcher will move slowly. You will not always have the feather pillows and warm hearth of a castle to sustain you. There will be times when a village will refuse to offer you shelter, or a baron will cast you out of his lands once your work is done. All too often the gold a contract earns will not go far enough to keep you housed through a bad winter. What will you do then? How will you make sure you survive to see the next bounty? That is where my speciality lies- in finding the tools for your survival in the world around you."

He stood, tilting his head from side to side with an audible crack.

"The first thing you must learn- making a fire. This is key to surviving long-term in the wilderness. You need to know how to make a decent fire in even the wettest of conditions. Once I am done teaching you, you will be able to set a fire in the middle of a lake. Now, go find some firewood. An armful of branches each will be sufficient."

At the Witcher's bidding, the group scattered, heading out to scour the woods for fuel. Frederick soon found himself knee-deep in the brush, his boots squelching as they found a thin layer of mud under the fallen leaves. He glanced about quickly, soon spotting a promising looking tangle of branches. He reached down, grasping the thickest bough he could find, and gave it a mighty heave.

The former mage's apprentice fell backwards as the branch offered no resistance, instead crumbling in his fingers, fibrous, rotten clumps ripping free in his grasp. The adept cursed under his breath, hastily rubbing his hand on his breeches to clean off some of the damp splinters that still clung to his skin. He turned at a loud chortle behind him.

Harlaw stood propped against a nearby tree trunk, lazily surveying the woodlands as his students began their harvest. An axe balanced between his hands, dancing merrily in the morning light as he turned it over casually.

"You'll not be making a fire out of that mess anytime soon." The Witcher advised. "Try to avoid anything that's even partly sunk into the mud. Chances are, it's been there long enough to become damp and useless."

With a shrug, the Master stood up, taking a few steps away from the tree. He reached down with a hand, gently pulling a smaller branch free of the knot of leaves that had almost completely covered it.

"Here. Listen." With a swing, he rapped the branch against the tree trunk, summoning forth a loud tok tok tok sound that bounced off the nearby trees. "You hear that? When a branch is good and dry, it sounds hollow, like an empty barrel. Those are the ones you want for a good, smokeless fire. When a branch is too wet, like this one- " Stowing his axe, he pulled another stick from the underbrush, offering the same demonstration. "It sounds much more dull, like a full barrel. That's the water you can hear inside."

Frederick tilted his head to listen, picking up on the subtle difference as the branch released a much more muted tnk tnk noise. He nodded his understanding. Harlaw, seeing his lesson sinking in, shifted his grip on each stick, tossing them to the adept one after the other.

"Now, feel the weight in each of these. Wet wood will be much heavier than dry. That's why it's always a good idea to keep your fuel dry. You will tire out much faster hauling a sack of wet firewood around." He pulled the axe from his belt again, twisting it to offer the handle to Frederick. "Here. You will have a far easier time gathering with the right tools to hand."

The young Witcher hopeful accepted the proffered tool and returned to his task with gusto, keen to impress the knowledgeable Master.