Heathcliffe is a bit taken aback that the creatures houding them are wholly unnatural but he catches his breath and hurries onward, suggesting to the others, "Could it be that the large one's controlling the other wolves and perhaps even the phantoms?"

(Break's over, back on your heads!  

Sorry, had a few things taking up my time, but back on schedule!)

With a growling bark, the huge wolf directs the packs attention to your retreat.  Howling and barking ensue while the pack starts to trot up the road after you, growing in size as more wolves emerge from the woods to join up with the vanguard.  The lead wolves appear to be in no hurry, keeping pace about 50yards behind you while the pack forms up.

(OOC- we ride away)

Naren does not confront the large wolf pack.

As she rides ahead of her companions, Semina looks over her shoulder to see what Heathcliffe is describing in more detail.  She listens as the howls and barking continue to pursue the party, and tries to decipher their meaning.

She commands Icerick to pick up the pace, and to keep it tight, as she tries to listen in on the wolves communication.

(OCC: Are the howls letting out any new information?  Or are they just following us a safe distance to make sure we are no longer a threat?)

It's difficult to make out any coherent information, it sounds like location barks and howls to alert other wolves out in the woods farther.

Semina advises Icerick that she is not able to pick up any more information from the wolf pack.  Seems they are calling for reinforcements and location, but nothing more about an attack.

"Run harder my friend," she speaks with the horse. "Do not injure yourself, but let's not be made into wolf food just yet."  Icerick responds by kicking up his pace, but it tends to be a bit labored since he reminds Semina that she is not the only one riding.

Heathcliffes hurries along with the others, making sure to check the growth surrounding thier flight occassionally lest they be caught in an ambush.

The rain seems to ease a bit as you start to trot ahead of the wolf pack. You can see the phantoms weaving in and out of the trees behind you occasionally, but mostly in your peripheral vision. They don't appear to be chasing you, per se, but they seem to always be a few yards behind and to the sides of your group. As your horses pick up speed, the wolf pack matches, and after about 20mins, you have had to kick your horses up to a moderate canter to keep ahead of them.

The woods echo with the unexpected chorus of yips and barks behind you; you can see all three giant wolves behind the now fully formed pack, driving them forward. Your horses whinny in alarm, and pick up speed on their own, as the pack surges forward en masse. Although the road is getting better, breakneck speeds are not the first choice you would make. You will have to trust to your mounts, however, as they have ideas of their own at this point.

Gripping the harnesses, you steel yourselves for the ride ahead.

Semina feels Icerick's tension build as the wolves pursue the party.  She releases her tight grip on his reins allowing him to adjust his own pace during their flight.

She knows he will not falter in his mission of survival, so she let's him take charge as he gains speed with the dying rain.
Leaning towards his ears, Semina speaks tender words of encouragement to help Icerick face any doubts.

Naren gathers all his skill to stay on his horse as it begins to run.

He also readies himself to throw himself off when it breaks a leg. At this pace, in the dark, when is more likely than if and it would be better to be ready for that.

Thraim takes up the position of last in the group of horses and riders, trusting to either Semina or Sander to lead their flight from this supernatural wolf pack.

As the day wears on, your mounts have been steadily flagging.  At first, you could see they were out-pacing the wolves, now you can see the wolves simply don't have the stamina to keep up.  After several hours, you can hear them baying behind you, but the horses have managed to keep up a solid trot and stay ahead of them, as far as you can tell.

The woods passed by in a blur, but you can see now that the overcast skies have parted.  You are well into twilight in the dense forest, and the deepening gloom throws menacing shadows throughout the trees to your sides.  You are hard pressed to tell if the wind is moaning in the branches, or if you haven't managed to elude the phantoms.  What you are certain of, however, is that your storm lashed ride kept you from noticing your soaking clothes.  Now that the horses have slowed, the chill air conspires with your dripping cloaks and sets your teeth to chattering.

Riding through the darkened forest, you come upon an unadorned but sturdy bridge.  Peering into the woods, you see the ground on both sides of the road is becoming marshy, and the bridge spans a culvert joining the two bogs.  The sounds of the hooves clattering across the bridge echoes through the trees eerily, and is louder than you would have expected.  You can now see standing pools of black water, and sawtoothed grasses growing here and there in scrubby tufts.  As you progress deeper into the swamp, you can feel the cold on either side of you, and begin to notice wisps of fog swirling on the water, becoming thicker and wafting across the roadway.

You estimate it has been three or four hours since your flight began in the early evening, and the fog has long since risen past the level of the hock on your mounts.  You can see a few yards around you, so you aren't in danger of going off the trail, but it is impossible to penetrate the fog beyond that.  There is a mist growing heavy in the air above you, reaching down to mingle with the fog, threatening to envelop you in an impenetrable sphere of white.

You abruptly find yourselves in a section of road that doesn't have the suffocating trees overhanging it; as a slight breeze clears out the cocoon of vapour, diffuse moonlight reveals a hillock off the south side of the road about ten yards into the swamp.  There is a fairly gentle slope to the surrounding swamp, and you can pick out a path over to it with a bit of care, as there appears to be some drier gound between the road and the hill.

As quickly as it arrived, the breeze dies out.  The miasmal fingers reach out once again to shroud the clearing.

Sander calls from his mount.
"Shall we try to make camp? Will the wolves follow us this far from their territory?"

Thraim looks wearily towards Semina and says, "do you still sense them?  Are they still hunting us?"