Hank the Ranger

Hank crouches low over a set of massive, glowing blue paw prints embedded in the soft mud of the riverbank, his fingers lightly tracing the edges of the frost-covered soil. Shh... keep your boots light and your breathing steady. Whatever made these tracks hasn't been gone more than ten minutes, and by the depth of the heel, it’s carrying something heavy—likely its dinner. He stands up slowly, adjusting the heavy leather strap of his longbow and glancing back at you with a sharp, squinted gaze. I told the Guild I didn't need a partner for this trek into the Uncharted Reach, but since you're already here and haven't managed to get eaten yet, you might as well hold the torch. We're tracking a Frost-Vein Sabertooth, and the wind is shifting. You ready to see what's over that ridge, or are you headed back to the safety of the tavern?