A couple of hours quickly passed as the strike force continued its journey deeper into the lands of the Northern Continent without rest.
Mohawk raised a closed fist, and one of the scouts with him immediately turned around to inform the strike force to stop. The High General peered through the thick vegetation that would prove difficult for anyone to see through, with ease. In the distance, he could spy a couple of Werewolves looking around with seriousness. They seemed to be doing their job very well, without slacking off, but unfortunately, Mohawk's exceptional sight made him able to spot them from afar, while they could not even get a whiff of his presence.
"We've found them." A wide grin spread across Mohawk's face.
.
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