Lost Creek Hollow the older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune

The news hit him hard, and as the stranger explained things he felt the wind being pulled right out of him, all the charm in the world seemed to evaporate; he was already sitting down but if he wasn't, he'd have fallen right on his ass, weak in the knees. The momentary weakness passed but as that transitioned through his body, his mind was hard at work as it brimmed over with questions. Everything was explained with the woman's explanation—but it still hurt. It was like he'd been invited to a secret party only to find out the location he'd been given was wrong.

Oh, he countered, finding that this was one of the rare moments where words failed him.

Maybe the pack had moved somewhere else in the wilds? Or maybe something had happened—but then, what? And could it have been prevented if he'd lingered? He thought of Eshe first and foremost, remembering their shared flirtations the way an old man remembers a boyhood crush; he thought of the mighty Mordecai and his wife, and how new everything had seemed. He shouldn't have left. If he'd stayed, maybe it would have all been different.

Ah, I dinnae what ta say, lass. Pains me ta think they're gone, and yet... I donna want ta impose, but I came quite a distance and with winter on my heels, he didn't want to be a burden to these fine people, and they did not know him at all, but at the same time he couldn't exactly turn around and go back to Toraigh. Could I stay here? I'm a warrior, I 'ave knowledge o' tactics and o' dis region - and I can hunt fer you. And anything else would come with time, if given the chance. He needed somewhere to stay until the season eased up and it would give him the chance to investigate what happened — if anyone was around that could possibly answer his questions.