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worry about thanking her,” he said. “You thanked me enough for us both.”
    The man looked confused, like he didn’t understand what Errol had just said.
    “Can you tell us what happened here?” Gale asked.
    The man suddenly screeched, going bug-eyed and putting his fist in his mouth.
    “Oh! Oh! Oh!” he finally said. “We have to go!  Quickly!  Before it gets back!” He scrambled towards the door - and into the first room - in a mad dash, and then outside, with Errol and Gale close behind him. Once outdoors, he put his hands up to his eyes, blinking madly in the bright sunlight.
    “How long have you been in that pot?” Errol asked.
    The man didn’t answer.  He just kept his hand up to block the sun and started mumbling to himself.  Errol asked a few more questions, but could get no response other than an occasional word about needing to leave.
    Finally, Gale interjected. “Errol, he’s terrified.  You’re not going to be able to get anything out of him while he’s like this. Maybe if we get him away from here - away from whoever put him in that pot…”
    The words hit Errol like a lightning bolt.  Something had put this man in the pot! Something that ripped people apart!  Something that ate them!
    “Quick, to the horses!” Errol shouted.
    Gale grabbed the man’s hand and began dragging him; Errol was right behind them when he remembered his crossbow. He shouted to Gale that he needed a minute as he ran back inside to get it.
    With Gale’s words still in his head, he stealthily walked into the second room. His crossbow was still on the floor where he had left it. He picked it up, glad to see that their hasty exit had not damaged it. Then he did the other thing he needed to do: he peeked over the edge of the pot.
    Using his wand for light, he looked at the multitude of bodies and body parts stuffed inside.  With a sigh of relief, he drew back a few moments later. He knew that in death people could take on an appearance quite different than what they had exhibited in life. Still, he was sure that nobody in the pot was Tom.  (Plus, none of the body parts, to the extent they were clothed, were wearing any piece of a Warden’s uniform.)
    As he prepared to leave, he looked around the room for what seemed like the first time, and noticed that there was actually a window that faced the area behind the cabin. Overtaken by curiosity, he went over to it and peeked out.
    He saw a sight that was already etched in his brain: scavengers picking over human remains.  He sighed despondently and looked down at the ground right outside - and saw a couple of doors set in a wooden frame that appeared to lead under the house. More importantly, he saw something else that immediately made almost everything else he’d seen since coming across the cabin secondary. He raced back through the front room and out of the cabin. He heard Gale call to him, but he ignored her, running full steam to the back of the structure.
    When he got there, he checked the doors closely to make sure he was right. This was obviously the entrance to some kind of storage or root cellar.  However, clearly standing out on one of the doors was what he had come back here to see: a bloody bootprint.  Tom’s, in fact.
    Tom had been here, without a doubt. Almost without hesitation, Errol tried the cellar doors and found them unlocked. He pulled them both open, revealing a rickety set of wooden stairs leading down into darkness. Again using the light from his wand, Errol went down the stairs.
    There was still a stench here, but not as bad as the pot. The cellar seemed to consist of one large chamber that was surprisingly chilly; as expected, there was blood and body parts here as well, although most of the limbs had been picked clean of flesh, and the blood was less prevalent.
    Thankfully, none of the bodies here were Tom.  Having assured himself of that fact, Errol was so anxious to leave that he almost missed it.
    He had turned to leave when the