After careful and thorough searching both magical and mundane, no trace of the mysterious archer is found. 2 of Mab's gaurds, Nell and Carhi, are perched on the high points of the covenant, armed with great bows that make the welsh longbow look small and inadequate. Indeed, most of the custos who were out in the fields have arrived, having been called in, including one grizzled veteran on crutches. "Out for a few weeks, place is going to peridition in a handbasket. Oi, Look Lively, you lot!" he yells at a bunch of custos working on clearing debris, who had stopped to rest.
He turns to look at the newcomers present. "Don't let Diedre fool ye about anythin'", he says, his latin having a slight brogue. "A few scratches from a boar isn't enough to keep ol' Hugh down for long." He appears unfazed by the presence of the magi. "And don't let 'er bully ye around, either. There are few who can stand her, fewer still those who can stand against her. She needs a voice to remind her she's still human."
"And then there's Mab. Not much I can say about me great-great-grandmother, for or against. She can be a handful, but she's not a bad sort. Most folk around here, fair or otherwise, aren't..." He's interrupted by young boy who runs up, a blurts out a brief message in Erse, then runs off. "Redcaps goin' out tonight, if you magi want to spread a description of the attacker, so other covenants in the area can be watchful, now's the time."
"I'm Hugh MacAirt, Grog Sargeant, as ye magi like to put it. So who or what are me men lookin' for, and in what condition do ye want it in, if we're ta bring it back at all?"