tracking skills

I cast back and forth, but it took only a few seconds to find what I was after: a depression in the accumulating sleet, the marks of the passage of many feet. “Carlos,” I said, and pointed at the ground. “Tracks.”
He came over and squinted down. “Aren’t these from when they came back to the boat the first time?”
“Can’t be,” I said. “Our tracks from an hour ago are gone. These were made after we left.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Seriously, Aragorn? Where’d you learn this stuff?”
“Mom taught me. She was scoutmaster for my brothers.”
“And to think I wasted my youth learning magic,” Carlos said. “Can you tell if the kids were with them?”
“Dammit, man. I’m a Faerie Princess, not a forensic analyst.” I jerked my head to tell him to follow me, and we set out after our quarry.


Brief Cases, Cold Case, Page 308