Before Zoltan and the three Jupani rise the Steep walls of the eastern valley wall of Mannalil. A dull roar starts to rise in the air as they approach a saddle between the Scarak and Donnel Mountains, the mile high cliffs looming over the figures like the giants of legend.

As the figures approach the saddle, the cliffs loom up sheer and imposing. One wonders how a person could climb their sheer faces, wondering how anyone could live so separated from the civilized world. The roar in the background becomes louder and louder as the bases of the cliff approach and the Jupani hunters Lead the Vartan to a low ridge that skirts the edges of a rushing river swollen and free of ice even in the dead of winter.

Suddenly before them stands a soaring canyon, cut like a knife straight into the cliff. The Loudwater River boils from the canyon, swirling and tumbling over stones and boulders the size of houses as its deafening chaos reverberates off the canyon walls in a tremulous roar.

Faranar looks to Zoltan, stopping for the first time that day. "We must take the high path up the canyon to Donnel. The path is steep and treacherous and we will understand if you wish to use your wings instead of your feet." He looks up the mile high cliffs and wags his tail briefly while his aides refill their waterskins from a boulder jutting into the swirling turmoil.

Zoltan glances upwards at the rocky path. His wings flex as he ponders the "easy" way or the hard path.

Zoltan squawks to Faranar, "Is climb with you… I thinks I can manage."

Faranar snaps an icicle off of a nearby rock and chews on it, "OK, If you need to rest or catch up let us know." He wags, "My people are not the type to stop and rest much. No need for it.

The hippogryph thinks to himself, . o O ( Hopefully the extra time with these Jupani might turn up SOME bit of information about the K'hu'an. They know amazingly little about these people. )

The wolves strike up the cliff at an impressive pace soon reaching an unseen shelf that varies from 3 to 10 feet wide, 50 feet up the southern cliff face. Soon the shelf turns into tricky climbs and cutbacks as it rises higher and higher above the swirling torrent below. The river never ceases it roaring, the rapids dizzying to watch as they half cascade and half flow through endless rapids and short pools. "The Loudwater The River people call it." Says the large wolf. "An apt name as it flows like this for a days march all the way up to the Flat."

Zoltan carefully follows the Wolves, doing his best to keep up. The tight narrow paths are the hardest, his wings either scrape against the rocky wall of the cliff or catch the wind and threaten to blow him off.

For a half a day the wolves climb, testing even Zoltan's muscled form with their endless endurance, the steady lope eating up the paces and altitude. Suddenly the shelf stumbles into a glade of trees, a small brook of water dropping down into the canyon a thousand feet below. The wolves turn and follow the steam valley until finally the canyon is breached and the snow shrouded Forest of Donnel loom around, whispering in the cold air.

( Are we there yet? ) O o . Zoltan thinks to himself. His sore hooves and aching legs having gone numb miles back.

"Welcome to the Clan Boax." Farranar says as a group of white cloaked forms rise up out of the drift encrusted underbrush and growl a greeting. The wolves yip and growl in their guttural language until the path's watch bellows forth a mighty undulating howl that is answered off in the distance. The chieftain and his aides yip and swish their tails before they trek off again into the deep snow of the forest, beckoning Zoltan to follow.

Zoltan grumbles to himself, wishing he'd brought better cold weather gear, and slowly follows Farranar and the wolves.

The march continues for maybe two more hours through the deep snow, Thin wispy aspen and Ponderosa Pine competing with furs and lodgepole pines for sunlight as they struggle under the weigh of their snow encrusted boughs. Zoltan feels the eyes of the forest upon him, long howls, Some Jupani some not, echoing through the forest as they travel. Finally a thin wisp of smoke can be seen rising from a cove in the mountains flank. As the group drops down the hill into the valley a long wooden structure is seen before them, a group of Jupani folk spilling out into the snow to greet the newcomers!

The new arrivals are soon surrounded in a sea of yips growls and howls as the boisterous Jupani celebrate the arrival of their chieftain and the Vartan he was sent to look for. They soon lead Zoltan into the longhouse, a huge wooden building with multiple hearths within its long rectangular walls. Each hearth has from one to 3 levels surrounding the communal cooking fire on balconies. The individual family quarters radiate off the balconies, bed cloths in alcoves along the walls separated from the rest of the clan by privacy curtains. To one of these in the innermost hearth Zoltan is taken. "This hearth is yours as long as you wish it. "Says the headman. "Now come and feast with us before you rest."

Zoltan eagerly joins the headman… happy to get some warm food in his stomach.

> At this point, < The Vartan mumbles to himself in his own tongue, > I'd even be willing to eat one of those big bugs.<

The Jupani turn out to be as boisterous as expected from their greeting of the arrivals. A whole elk haunch is brought out and spitted, tended by the womenfolk as they turn and baste it until the smell is about to drive Zoltan's stomach to knots. Wild greens and grain appear and are molded into salads and breads as the menfolk gather round and sing an eerie song in their language. its bass and alto notes answered from the other hearths of the longhouse. Finally the feast commences and the 2 dozen members of the hearth all descend upon the foodline, Zoltan being given the honor of first pick.

Zoltan eagerly chooses his portions. More meat than greens and breads… but he makes a point to get at least a little of everything.

The singing soon stops as the clan settles down to the serious business of the vittles. Afterwards the womenfolk retire to tend the cubs and clear the feast away as the males settle down around the fire, smoking long, wide barreled pipes filled with a strange tobacco mixed with a fine powder. one Offers Zoltan a spare and swishes as he packs it well with the strange tobacco.

The Hippogryph accepts the pipe, and holds it a bit awkwardly… trying to figure out how to hold it in his beak.

Zoltan finally sticks it in the corner of his mouth where the skin is a bit more flexible. It looks a bit goofy, but it's the best he can manage.

The Jupani growl approvingly and soon sit back talking until one by one they head back to their hearths for bed.

Zoltan barely notices the Jupani leave… but has a vague memory of where his own bed is and staggers off to it… miraculously he doesn't break anything.

Morning comes. The light of dawn not visible in the sealed longhouse but the smell of breakfast and the noise of the returning night patrols serving as wake up call to the Hippogryph.

And the touch of several Jupani pup noses as they sniff at the stranger and then skitter away as he stirs

Zoltan shakes the last bits of sleep from his brain, (which is helped a great deal by the icy cold noses of the Jupani pups). He drags himself out of bed and stretches, testing his muscles. Some are sore… but none are too horribly pained.

Zoltan stretches a bit more just to work the kinks out and follows the delightful scent of breakfast…

A Jupani she-wolf approaches and swishes her tail. She growls out a greeting? And beacons the hippogryph towards the hearth where he sees Farranar and his Aides sharing breakfast around the fire.

The Vartan follows the female and greets the three. He settles down by the fire and soaks in as much warmth as he can… sensing that he'll not be feeling much of it during the next few weeks.

"You are awake!" The Wolf Chieftain says as he sends his advisor off for something. "You slept well?"

Zoltan puts a hand to his head, "Slept well… but had strange dreams. Is probably just from being in strange bed."

The advisor returns with a large white rolled up hide. He unfurls it and there before him lies a map of Donnel and Lonjonnor and the areas of the Mannalil beside it. "I am here to tell you what we know of the K'hu'an's movements before you begin your search."

Zoltan nods to the advisor and begins studying the map.

The chieftain points to a large tower drawn at the Pass where the Coldwater exits the mountains into the coastal desert. The tower Karrak lies here. The K'hu'an have a village there from which they supply the warriors who possess it.

He points with a stick along a line that is drawn across the mountain, showing many small points, "Here across the summit lies the stone forest. Where it ends the Clanland ends. The K'hu'an have been moving in through the forest and lairing in caves and rock shelters to hide their camps. Many of my warriors have not returned when I have sent them to scout on the locations of the camps."

"Many… some come back?" Zoltan asks.

The chief taps on several burrs stuck into the skin map. Most of my scouts do. They have told me of these camps here." He says pointing the the burrs. "But a half dozen have disappeared. Three patrols." He looks grim. And we have even seen them in the forest beyond the stone forest in the heart of our territory although we did not let them know we were following them.

Zoltan nods grimly, studying the map even closer.

"This is all I know." He says sitting back on his haunches. "The more I need from you. Where are the K'hu'an? How do they move from camp to camp? How many are in their camps?"

Zoltan says, "I do my best. Is all I can give."

The chief hands Zoltan a white cloak and a fannypack with dried meat strips and a waterwine mixture to keep it from freezing. "Will you return tonight or next morning?"

Zoltan carefully dons the cloak and supplies. the cloak turns out to be a bit tricky to fit around his wings, but he manages it. "Time when I returns depends on what I finds. I can sleep in forest, hide in trees. If gets dangerous I hides."

Zoltan squawks, "If I not come back in three days… I probably not come back at all."

The chief nods, "Stay up as high as you can then. They use darts." He winces visibly at the saying.

Zoltan scrawks, "I keep that in minds."

The Jupani rise and lead the Vartan to the door, pushing open the windbreaks as he steps out into the orange of dawn, the sun reflecting off the snow and the broken clouds in the sky.

Zoltan winces in the sunlight for a moment. He turns back to the Jupani, "Is wish me luck, yes?" He squawks, his wings slowly unfurl.

The Jupani tilts his head back and howls, the undulations a sort of blessing and prayer for the voyage. "Fair skies and firm air."

Zoltan seems satisfied and leaps into the air. His feathers glisten in the sunlight as his wings beat down the air… sending him higher and higher.