Elethielle and Riaghan investigate the steadily-flowing river while Philemon slinks ahead to the farmhouse, skirting around the outside first. Artaith and Eponine wait alertly in the middle with weapons drawn, ready to rush to the assistance of anyone that may need it.

Over at the river, the scene seems utterly idyllic. Small frogs plip into the water amidst the reeds at your arrival. Insects buzz across the water and a mother ducks hustles her ducklings away from you seeking safety in the slower part of the current.

Meanwhile Philemon cautiously moves along the fenceline taking cover where he can behind the occasional trees and bushes that grow about the place. He finds...nothing. Well, hardly a living thing. A mouse skitters off into the long grass and birds happily chirp in the branches of the trees. But in the fields about him there is no sign of any farm animals.

Here and there, the dried remnants of old cattle and sheep droppings. A water trough with dusty hoof prints about it some days old. Some areas of upturned earth. A rope is affixed to a post where something (a goat, by the look of the prints and old droppings) might once have been tethered. Some hutches where chickens nested, doors hanging wide. A kennel for a dog (are those bloodstains?). But no farm animals.

The door to the farmhouse hangs open. Philemon sneaks up, waving the others up behind him. He peeks inside. The small dwelling bears the trappings and implements of a simple life....but also signs of struggle. Tangled bedlinen across the floor as if someone got up carelessly or in a hurry, a pot of porridge knocked and spattered to dry on the floorboards where it fell, a chair fallen to one side. Marks in the mess where it seems to Philemon's keen eye that someone was dragged out the read door (towards the south).

All is silent save the occasional (and quite normal) chirping of birds.