Impressive, no doubt, but Logen was nobody's fool when it came to a spot of sneaking. He'd been known for it, when he was younger. Lost count of the number of Shanka, the number of men he'd come up behind. The first you'll hear of the Bloody-Nine is the blood hissing out of your neck, that used to be the rumour. Say one thing for Logen Ninefingers, say that he's stealthy.

He flowed up to the first wall, slid one leg over it, silent as a mouse. He lifted himself up, smooth as butter, keeping quiet, keeping low. His back foot caught on a set of loose stones, dragged them scraping with him. He grabbed at them, fumbled them, knocked over even more with his elbow and they clattered down loud around him. He stumbled onto his weak ankle, twisted it, squawked with pain, fell over and rolled through a patch of thistles.

'Shit,' he grunted, struggling up, one hand clutching at the hilt of his sword, all tangled up with his coat. Good thing he hadn't had it out, or he could've stuck himself through with it.

Happened to a friend of his. So busy shouting that he tripped on a tree root and cut a big piece out of his head on his own axe. Back to the mud double time.

He crouched among the fallen stones, waiting for someone to jump him. No one came. Just the wind breathing through the gaps in the old walls, the water chuckling away in the brook. He crept along beside a heap of rough stones, through an old doorway, slithered over a slumping wall, limping and gasping on his bad foot, scarcely making any effort to stay quiet any longer. There was no one there. He'd known it as soon as he fell. No way they could have missed that sorry performance. The Dogman would most likely have been weeping right about now, had he been alive. He waved up at the ridge, and a moment later he saw Longfoot stand up and wave as well.

'No one here,' he muttered to himself.

'Just as well,' hissed Ferro's voice, not more than a stride or two behind. 'You got a new way of scouting, pink. Make so much noise that they come to you.'

'Out of practice,' grunted Logen. 'Still, no harm done. No one here.'

'There was.' She was standing in the shell of one of the ruined buildings, frowning down at the ground. A burned patch in the grass, a few stones set around it. A campfire.

'No more 'n a day or two old,' muttered Logen, poking at the ashes with a finger.

Luthar walked up behind them. 'No one here after all.' He had a smug, sucked-in look on his face, like he'd somehow been right about something all along. Logen didn't see what.