At first, Volkhard worried that they had waited too long to ask for his help. The trail had gone cold by the time the search parties had given up, and there were very few traces remaining of the prisoner. But 'very few' traces were better than none at all. The Executioner's well-trained eye was able to pick out small signs here and there, tiny breadcrumbs that were showing him the direction in which he should go.
The further he travelled, the clearer and more frequent these signs became. "I've got you," the werecain growled to himself, a feral grin upon his face.