The cold, dry morning dawned and brought with it welcomed sunlight and some warmth, albeit filtered through the snow-covered canopy of trees. The four men continued following the game trail through the woods, into increasingly hilly territory, and over a few frozen brooks and streams. After a few hours of travel and the terrain going generally into higher hills, the trees break and the group finds a small valley, hidden among the may hills and low ridges.
After skirting the upper edge of the valley in search of a good, open trail to move through it the team descends into the valley, wherein sits a large copse of trees and what looks to be a small lake within. When the party is partway down the shallow slope, a glint of metal reflects off the mid-morning sun from the woods to the west in the valley, and immediately thereafter comes a shout.
“Oi! Aye there! I see you’re in our valley!” comes a gravely voice from the woods. As the shout’s echoes die, there comes an deliberate shuffling sound to the rear-left, where movement among a heap of boulders and brush can be seen.
“You either outran our scouts or you killed’em, so you’re a presenting a problem for us…what are we to do with you?” the same voice challenges.
You’re on a shallow slope, in the open by a hundred-some feet in every direction, with woods to the front (west), a jumble of boulders to your left (south), the hill down which you’re riding to the rear (east), and light brush, a few trees, and a frozen stream to your right (north).