The smell of smoke is distinct now in everyone's nostrils, and the fog seems backlit slightly, by a flickering light coming from the direction of the cabin. No one has the luxury of investigating this, as the sounds of battle rage. From the west, yaps of a wolf, roars of a bear, and battle cries of a Viking. From the Southeast, Octar shouts "These damn vines! I'll be free of them yet!" And steel is heard to clash.