"I do," replies Verius, "but that relates to the matter of which I may not speak." Having completed the transfer of goods, he leads his caribou back through the gate - the furs received in trade barely fill one of Olain's wagons, with the other still nearly full of metalwork and the Actian instruments. "I wish you good fortune in your travels."

"And you in yours," replies Olain with a sigh, as Verius swiftly heads back the way he came. "Damn it all. I brought extra hoping to stockpile in case there was a shortage coming, but it seems I've landed right on the edge of one. I suppose that, on the slightly brighter side of the coin, I'll likely be the only one in town with enough stock to last the year."

Muttering something in Dwarven, he waves toward the tents. "We may as well pack up and head for Seurd; Verius made it clear enough we won't be welcome any further north."

The first half of your journey back is almost eerily quiet; even wolves and ptarmigan seem to be missing, or avoiding you. It is not until shortly after the start of the third day of travel that a more obvious sign of oddity appears - a freshly worn track through the snow, perhaps twenty feet wide, leading north by northwest across your path.