The animal was dead.
Caught in a hunter's trap, it didn't appear to have been lying on the ground too long...

The animal was dead.
Gorath peeled the creature's corpse, being careful of the trap's iron teeth while trying to find enough meat to wrap up into a packet of rations.

Several pieces of charred wood and a circle of small stones were all that remained of the small campfire.

The ashes were cold.
Wiping the grime off his hands, Gorath shook his head. "Someone or something obviously set up camp here, but it's hard to say just when."

It was a bag.
Stitched together from a light canvas material, it looked as though it could contain a large number of things.

James carefully opened the light canvas rucksack. Praying that its contents hadn't already been discovered by a greedy traveller, he peered inside...

Locklear frowned.
"It's a body, he said. "We might want to look it over."

James checked the corpse.
"No sense being squeamish," he said, rifling through a rucksack which lay next to the body. "Supplies are supplies wherever you find them. This fellow won't be needing them anymore."

"I think he's dead," Patrus said, eyeing the [enemy]'s corpse.

James stared at the corn. Far too young for consumption, it still looked quite good.

The corn was too young. Discarding the ear he had picked, James shrugged his shoulders. "Eating this would just make us sick. Let's move on."

The crystals were odd. Unlike anything Owyn had ever seen on Midkemia, the formations seemed to pulse with an internal energy...

Owyn's fingers tingled. Grasping the strange looking crystals, he pulled as hard as he could.

The small mound of dirt seemed to indicate that someone had recently dug a hole here. It was not clear, however, whether anything valuable was actually buried in it.

Something had been buried under the dirt.
"The hole's not big enough to put a man in, so it's safe to assume it isn't a grave," James said. "Might be a secret cache of food or supplies. Let's take a look."

James was suspicious.
Although it appeared innocuous enough, the pile of stones could signify any number of things; traps, treasure, graves, chests... anything.

The search was futile.
Exasperated, James restacked the rocks into a pile, partially relieved that at least there hadn't been a trap of some sort waiting for them under the stones.

It was coming apart.
Judging from the hay which spilled from the figure's shirt, the scarecrow had been assembled in a hurry by a desperate farmer.

James grunted.
Despite his repeated efforts to pull the scarecrow out of the ground, it wouldn't budge.

Once it had been a tree.
Rotted and moldy, only a hollow shell of bark remained of the oaken bole.

James approached the wooden stump cautiously. Seeing that it was hollow he looked inside...

"I'd guess it's a way marker," Owyn said.

James studied the well.
He had hoped, perhaps, the well would have a sign attached to it with some notation of whether its water was good or bad, but no such information seemed to be in evidence anywhere he looked.

Drawing some water from the small well, they drank greedily.
Then, stopping only long enough to fill their pouches, they packed up and prepared to leave.

Owyn shrugged.
"This must not be very important," he said as he turned to leave.