Feeling a bit shoved aside by these newcomers, Clink and Clank, and not wanting my contributions and value to the house to be overshadowed, I hastily make the decision to pursue the lavender cloaked red haired killer myself, in hopes of ending his reign of terror before the house’s newest additions have the chance. I tuck myself away and warg into August to set out in pursuit of the murderer.

After two weeks of tracking, I catch a whiff of something new…other dogs. This strikes me as odd, so I slow my pace and hunker down to observe over a cliff. I spy two dogs lounging outside kennels of a hunting lodge. Occasionally, a bundled up man or woman will come out to check on the horses. A lavender banner flaps in the bitterly cold wind. After a few hours of limited activity, I slink closer to the building to get closer to the windows.

The backside window peeks into a store room, so needing to get closer I tiptoe towards the next window. The guard dogs are good at their jobs, and come ripping around the corner, snarling and sprinting towards me. I crouch with a low wagging tail, and taking an appeasing stance. They soften and sniff and circle before moving on moments before a woman’s voice rings out into the cold air, banging pots together and calling for meal time. As quickly as the guard dogs arrive, they depart, and I follow on their heels.

The bundled woman stands out front with scraps that make me drool. I flop onto my back and wiggle around in the snow in an attempt to warm her to sharing with me, or even let me inside with no success. She kicks snow and tells me to get lost, and I slink back around the windows where I started, happy that the guard dogs are distracted.

Through the first window, I see a firepit straight ahead and move onto the the second window, where I see a man standing a talking to another. In the third and fouth windows I peek through into a kitchen, so circle back to the second window to get a closer look at the man, who is speaking animatedly to another just out of view. In hopes of hearing more if their conversation I crouch below the window sill and grow very still to listen intently. “What do you mean it’s not her?” the freckled man shouts. “I don’t know what to tell you, its not her,” the man out of view responded, stumbling over his words and exasperating the freckled man. “I can’t believe it’s come to this!” My ears prick up at a third voice, who says calmly, “just be patient, I’m sure that our new friend here will be able to get us exactly who we’re looking for”.

I recognize this stumbling, bumbling nervous voice-it’s clearly Slim. What is Slim doing out in the Mountains of the Moon? Who are they looking for? Is the freckled man the killer? I hunker down closer to the building to try and gather more information.