Dec 28 2008
Dillon Dukes IV
Little more than an hour passed when he came upon the abandoned campsite. A small fire had been made at the top of a small rise. It appeared no one slept. No signs of tents, chairs or lying bodies. Only footprints huddled together in a semicircle around the fire. On one side horses had stood together tied to a dead bush. There were tracks leading away from the camp towards the mountains. He stood still for a moment, listening. Gusts of wind made hearing anything else difficult. Between the gusts of wind there was a bird, a hawk or a falcon, but nothing else. The storm from the South was now almost to him. The wind picked up even more. He started to run, staff in hand, pursuing the tracks before him.
