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	[u]Weather[/u]: The cold air and occasional breeze remains unchanged. Winter is setting in.   
 
	[u]Time[/u]: Mid to late afternoon. Since the last update, not a lot of time has passed.  

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The more musk and acid scents of the butchered Ankhegs are likely keeping more natural predators at bay, if indeed any are around. A lighter mood seems to have settled on the recent field of skirmish in addition to the quiet along the settled moor.   

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]

	Putting the remains of the Ankhegs into the respective wagons wasn't quite so difficult of a task when many hands were put to it. This truth took an incremental and steady decline with the number of people who refrained from volunteering, but for the moment, Barbal Mosswater wasn't pointing any hard, deliberate fingers. Suffice it to say, the stuff got stowed properly and a thick, oil treated canvas tarp made its way to the L'Rose wagon for temporary use. The disarticulated corpses didn't seem to take up quite as much room as fully intact ones might, in no small part due to the Mosswaters laying claim to a large part of the bodies which did not involve the choicest cuts of meat and carapace. The gut pile, or [i]piles,[/i] plural, remained where they were upon the field, possibly as food for scavengers brave enough to venture close. It was not very likely that the laborers would glean fallen grain from this end of the field. 

	The Mosswaters got themselves ready to leave after all was butchered and packed up. As far as they were aware the problem had been settled, even if a minuscule suspicion remained. Barbal announced, [color=darkgray]"We need to catch up to the ones who left for the Township. Cold should keep the bits and pieces fresh for a good while yet. We will be checking in after a day or two, I reckon."[/color] 

	Tarace added, with a moment of initial hesitation, [color=darkgray][i]"I say, ah... There's no guarantee that those three were all of them, and if I may? Something kept those things from settling in for the winter. And made them ravenous enough to devour half a flock of sheep. They mostly, hmm... They mostly eat dirt, you see."[/i][/color] He left it with that final thought, though the implications were clear: Ankhegs might have just been a symptom of a bigger issue. And even if this problem was handled relatively easily by stout and stalwart Adventurers, there was possibly more to come for the unwary or underprepared. 

	The Halflings got their wagon back underway, rolling steadily back up toward the main road. Barbal gave a single gruff [color=darkgray]"Thank you,"[/color] as they departed, barely offering a look back to the party or their hosts. Tarace waved with something bordering on histrionics. 

	The answer to Baronfjord's initial question to Barbal actually came from Cecily, who had since walked nearer to the fence to get closer to her niece. [color=darkgray][i]"Oh, I've heard talk of "queens" and "soldiers", like they were ants or something like that. But I believe Barbal was just being, um, well ...himself. And we do love him for it, even if he's a little more colorful with his talk than the next person."[/i][/color] She shrugged, then turned to address Victoria's earlier question. [color=darkgray][i]"U cannot rightly say with certainty, but the Rose River Vineyard employs a Dwarf fellow - has for the past three or so years now - name of Urmdrus. He works our forge, does some carpentry, stonework, and the like. Wiry sort, for a Dwarf. He's proven to be excellent craftsfolk with almost any medium I've asked of him and works fast. But I must admit, the facial tattoos did throw me off when Grandfather L'Rose first hired him."[/i][/color]

	The older draft mule's slightly unsettled nature calmed down almost entirely when the Dragonborn Monk took a brush and a few soothing words to him. The former army mule appeared to take the attack better than many of the two-legged sapients in attendance did, and recovered with minimal support. A half-whinny, half-snort escaped him, which quieted to contented nickering. 

	Before it became time to leave, Lizbeth was having the time of her life, or so it appeared that way. She listened to Kathryn's words on the subject of the hammer and potential hammering, as well as advice on not hammering herself in the process. She did grip up on the device with two hands, as instructed, and gave a wince as she heard Kosara describe her accidental tail-ectomy. It even struck her as being a little dangerous when she added something about a properly sized weapon. This hammer was, at an exaggeration, almost as big as she was. This did not stop her from going out the suggested distance and giving a few two-handed practice swings before giggling a little and switching to extremely inexpert, overbalancing arcs with the weapon. In short, she was [i]extremely not good[/i] with it. She barely had the strength necessary to hold it properly for any length of time. But she was having a genuinely good time. After a bit, she relinquished it to Kathryn. 

	With things loaded and nary a fly to swat in sight, a few moments of taking it easy/experimenting with weaponry, and animals settled down, Cecily and Lizbeth hopped back into their wagon and pulled forward enough for the party's wagon to have a easier time swinging back around to follow them. 

	Back upon the main road, one could barely make out the retreating form of the Mosswaters' wagon cresting a rise to the north, en route back to the Avonshire Township. The L'Rose's wagon turned in the opposite direction, following the simple signpost which read "Southmoor", and an arrow pointing down the road, quite oddly, to the south. 

	 Cecily called back to whomever cared to listen, [color=darkgray][i]"We're coming up on Southmoor in about an hour, hour and a half. It's the last town before reaching the Vineyard by this road. Half of the people there work for us seasonally, and they comprise about half of our workforce during the busy months. We take laborers from the villages around the moors in this area too, but here's where the lion's share live. When it's not harvest, anyway."[/i][/color] A moment  or two of silence, and she mentioned, [color=darkgray][i]"Southmoor is the last place to make any purchases before we get home, if you need anything today."[/i][/color]