Open Chronicles Birds Always Find Home

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Angela

The White Waif
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Dawn was breaking on a new day. A clump of snow fell from a branch of a nearby pine tree. The sun’s first rays slowly bleached the sky yellow, shining brilliantly on snow-capped mountains. The cold of the morning was no different from the cold of the night, and yet it woke the slumbering elf all the same.

It was nights like the last that made her grateful to her companion. She reached out a grasping hand in search of the white mass of fur pressed against her back. She thread her fingers through the soft fur, feeling the comforting heat beneath. The dog let out a huge yawn, and swung his head around to lap wetly at her pointed ear.

Angel Girl… rather, Angela, as she was now named, sat up from her sleep roll, gritting her teeth at the sharp cold that engulfed her upon leaving the thickly quilted bedding lined heavily with fur. Before she reached for her clothing, food, or drink, she rose to her knees and clasped her hands in front of her chin.

Angela dipped her head in fervent prayer. She thanked Maskat for her blessing, for waking up another day alive and healthy, for protecting Angela, and Dog, and the horse through the night, and finally, for saving Angela all those years ago.

The elven girl sat back and pulled on her second layer of stockings, then wrapped her feet in ragged cloth. She pulled loose, ill-fitting leggings over that. She layered more and more clothes until she would be protected from the cold. Before she put on her final layer, she painstakingly maneuvered her wings through the slits she had cut in nearly all her clothing. This was a daily ritual. Carefully, she wiggled out of her lean-to shelter, too-big boots crunching in the morning snow. She rolled her neck, shook out her two pairs of white wings, and stretched her arms high over her head with a high-pitched sigh. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through her tangled white hair, trying to work out the knots before giving up.

Angela went about her morning routine sluggishly: restarting the fire, feeding the horse, and taking stock of the remaining rations. Dog followed her whenever she wandered too far, but was content to ‘keep watch’ over the slowly crackling fire.

She searched all over her new belongings, through every knapsack and saddle bag and pouch. She had very little food left. Barely any. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Angela had never been in this situation. All her life she’d been surrounded by walls and people. Now she was completely alone in the mountains, and she didn’t have the slightest idea how to survive. She only knew what little Ser Agarwal had told her… before he died.

The lump in her throat grew larger. He had been a good man. She barely knew what compassion was before she had met him. Often she thought to herself that he may still be alive if it weren’t for her. Perhaps the Knight had been distracted, or slowed down by taking her as a ward.

What had she been thinking when she left Molthal? Irontown was all she knew. The slums, full to the brim of suffering people, but at least she didn’t need to know which berries were safe to consume and which weren’t. At least she didn’t need to catch and kill her own food, skin it and take out the bad bits inside.

She was hopeless at surviving on her own. And if she went back to Molthal, surely she’d be killed for running away… And if not, surely she would die in shackles.

Heart heavy, eyes downcast, she nibbled on the last of her rations. A bit of dried meat, the rest of it given to Dog. She roasted a sad, lonely potato over her fire. What she wouldn’t give for a bite of bread. Freshly cooked meat; but only the fat because she could only get her hands on what others threw out. A bit of cheese, even if it was moldy, she was used to it…

Still working her wings in the frigid air, trying to make them stronger, Angela packed up camp in absent movements. She put out the fire, brushed and saddled the black mare, rolled up her sleep roll and tied it up with the rest. From her lean-to, she retrieved her two most precious belongings.

A Vampire’s stolen coat, and a Templar’s gifted sword. She tucked her wings under the leather coat, lined with soft fabric, and cinced the belt of her sword sheath tight around her waist. Taking hold of the mare’s reins, she whistled for Dog and started off into the day.

Sunrise on your left. Sunset on your right. Once you’re through the mountains, follow the river. Find the lake, and you’ll find Kor Gorum. There, you’ll be safe.
 
The Spine was cold, Ishar had never liked the cold.

There was a pain to it, a bite. Growing up in the Blightlands he'd never experienced much cold, nevermind the snow that was left on the ground because of it. Still, this place was abandoned, empty, more so than even the Blightlands. There was little chance of running into anyone here, particularly in the depth of winter.

It was why he had come here in the first place. For someone like him the great emptiness of the Spine was a blessing, even if he could never quite get out of the fucking cold.

Poking the fire in front of him to release some of it's heat Ishar scooted a bit closer.

He had made his small camp on one of the cliff-sides overlooking the valley below. There was only one way up, and the space was hardly large enough for three men, but it was secure. From here he could see nearly the whole of the valley, which was of course why he'd chosen it.

Paranoia was not something he could rid himself of, even after all of these years.

Huddling closer to the small flame Ishar grunted to himself, hands rubbing his arms. He hated the cold.
 
Ice. Snow. Wind. Trees. It was all as much home to Weylin up in the Spine as any warm hearth filled full of ale and bread to the low landers. Thick leather, fur, and wool was all one required up here, as well as some practice with gloved dexterity. He had all of it going on right now thanks to having spent so much time wandering the land around Glacen. Seemed the town people didn't have much need to hunt so the game was more populous and less skittish than back in his home region. But even sticking near easy game could be a problem. Namely Glacen was on the river and the bears were hoping for salmon to be swimming up stream. Bears were dangerous so the riverside was dangerous.

Venturing further into the Northern mountains, Weylin had found some escape from the mountain bears roaming the river. The only problem was that all the game was around the river as well. No hunting for profit for him right now. Instead he settled on some exploration and searching for other resources. An outcropping of ore or minerals could be marked and sold for a fair amount. There was also the chance to find rare plants in the peaks. Perhaps he would find some lost dwarven settlement and spent a few days being warm and safe from the wind will searching for the mysteries it held.

Weylin didn't find any of that. No outcropping vein. No rare plant. No abandoned dwarven hole. What he did find was a low fire and a lean-to. That meant someone was here. But who would be in such an isolated place? All he had seen were caves, beasts, and trees. He decided it would be best to keep low with White and check it out. Never knew what kinds hide in the peaks after all.

The big, white mountain dog was demanding attention from Weylin as the pair watched a strange person. They were white. It was the best way to describe them. Their hair, their skin, their little wings. All of it was white. She seemed like a snow nymph or ice fairy to him. But she wasn't. He knew because of the horse (better off with a dwarven ram) and a dog. It was white as well but not a big mountain dog like White. Who this person could be was a mystery. Their attire was mixed up as if it was all coming from different places and a sword was with them. They didn't move like his dad and some of the other skilled fighters he knew did though. She moved more like he did with it: little to no experience.

It was all very strange to him. Why would someone so odd be far away from any real help? She needed it too from the looks of her food supply. What little she had seemed to be something the river sailors would load onto their boats than something a hunter would take.

Weylin frowned a bit to himself. She wasn't a threat at all and seemed to be starving. His eyes glanced down to the squirrel and hare hanging from his little rope. That was going to be his and White's meal for the night. With a bit of a sigh he gave the big white fluff monster the attention she craved then began to head towards the little lean-to.

Angela Ishar Morrad
 
This, thought young Adam of Healdwicc, is bullshit.

The ice cold wind bit through what little furs he had, threatening to eat its way into his heart and rob him of his will to go on. His nose dripped, his mucus freezing to the sparse whiskers that clung to life above his upper lip, and his gloved fingers felt red and swollen. His leather boots were holding the snow out but not the moisture, and now his feet were cold and damp. Oh Harvest Lords, he wished he had never agreed to come on this ill-fated journey. The coin had sounded good at the time; he'd be able to live for a month once this journey was completed. If it was completed. Adam wondered if he might die on these mountains, frozen to death far from the warm hearths of the Kingdom of Lach. It was the arsehole of the world, but it was home. The Spine definitely, as Skarwic would say, ain't. Growling, he tucked his ears beneath his fur cap once again and yanked at the mule he was leading, goading it onwards.

It had been a two week journey east and south-east, from Healdwicc through the various holdfasts of Lach and Donnerdae, which in Adam's estimation had been a bunch of huts scratched together and held standing through faith in the gods alone. And now they moved through the Spine, heading for the path that would head to Belgrath. The merchant, the fool Narfi, had paid six men for protection against goblin and orc raiders, bandits and the wild. Adam was the second youngest, no longer the arseling ... just an arseling. They all looked to Skarwic for guidance. He was in his forties, had been fighting and guiding out on the borderlands for years. He'd even fought at Unburh against the Orcish horde of Skeal-sha, where the petty kingdoms had united to save their little backwater piece of Epressa against desolation, though he never spoke about it. Skarwic was a decent enough man. Not a great warrior by any means, but he'd lived by the sword for decades and survived, and he was all they had. And it was he who spoke.

"Narfi! We ain't going further til we've had a breather!" His mule came to a stop, and Adam pulled up beside him.

"Nonsense, man! We must reach the pass by nightfall or we may have to wait for a week!" The merchant moved back towards them through the snow, his arms flapping as he struggled to maintain his balance. For some reason, Adam despised that man.

"We'll reach it, make no mistake. But the boys are cooked. This snow ain't easy goin'."

"Friend Skarwic, you were paid to do as I command. So do as I command!"

"Lord, we were paid on a promise. An' not to take this gods-forsaken path either, 'specially at this time o' year. This work ain't worth the ten shillin's you owe. We ain't goin' no further." Skarwic growled and placed a hand on his sword.

"I see," the merchant eyed Skarwic's hand and took a backward step. "Then maybe twelve shillings is a fairer price?"

"More like thirteen." Adam spoke up, his eyes hard. This weather made his temper short and his mannerisms gruff. He had half a mind to run the merchant through and take the mules and their wares southwest, into the Allir. They wouldn't make much coin out of those folk, but it was far better than this.

"The arseling speaks sense for once." Skarwic nodded.

"Very well, thirteen it will be." The merchant looked down his nose at the men, and then began bustling back towards his mule. "You have five minutes and then we move again!"

The men turned back to their mules, and five minutes later they began to climb through the valley once again, eyes cast down. They were completely unaware of the campfires that burned above.

Angela Ishar Morrad Weylin Kyrel
 
Voices were coming from the valley below. High up as she was, she could peer slightly to her right and look down the steady decline. Angela could only just see what looked like a party of men on mules, hauling a great deal of goods. She couldn't quite hear the words they said, but recognized the tones of Common Tongue.

Her thoughts had turned desperate hours ago. They raced without her bidding. Did they have food? Supplies? She was nearly sure they wouldn't share it. Would she need to steal it? Did she dare to try? To survive? Did she even deserve to?

Her maudlin thoughts were interrupted by a sudden growl, vicious and low. Startled, Angela looked down at Dog. The beast's hackles were nearly as high as the night of the vampire attack. Dog bristled and was growling threateningly at something in the brush. Angela turned, nearly tripped, clutching the mare's reins with white knuckles. A shadow was moving through the brush, slow and lumbering. She could hear the sound of the snow crunching beneath the being's steps as it came closer and closer.

Heart hammering in her chest, Angela squeaked in fear then fumbled for the sword. Drawing it, she leveled it in front of her unsteadily and eeked out, "Stop!" in Common, hoping for the best. The solid silver blade was heavy in her hands. It wouldn't take long at all for her frail arms to tremble from the strain.

A fair distance away, unseen by Angela, a barely visible stream of smoke rose slowly from a slightly higher outcropping into the winter air.

Weylin Kyrel Adam Ishar Morrad
 
Ishar huddled ever closer to the fire.

Survival in the spine was never easy, whether you traveled alone or with an entire caravan. The cold was biting, the weather wasn't friendly, and the creatures that roamed the mountains were often every bit as hungry as you. A part of him wanted to add another log to the fire, grow the flame to give him more warmth, but he knew that would draw unwanted eyes.

Though there were less people here the Spine was still a traveled place. The Valley below was sometimes used by caravans and the like to get to Belgrath or cut across the continents.

The former Templar Captain didn't want to risk interacting with anyone, especially this close to the full moon. He frowned for a brief moment, glancing up at the blue sky above as he slowly began to rub his arms. It was almost noontime now, he would have to go hunting soon.

It was always better to change on a full belly.
 
The little snow sprite was trembling as she held a shiny sword and commanded Weylin to stop. That action plus the other dog's growling got White into a protective stance with a growl of her own. He just patted her side in that reassuring way she liked to tell her it was okay. In the ways of the Spine hunters Weylin stopped. He pulled the rope with the hare and squirrel on it out in front of him and held it up so she could see it while he pulled an arrow from his quiver and plunged it tip first into the ground. Any hunter or experienced enough member of the Spine would recognize it as a peaceful sign of sharing. He was offering his food up to share.

There was some noise coming from further down the mountainside. Weylin would normally get a look of it to figure out if it was something to worry about or not, but he didn't have that luxury right now. His attention was demanded on the ice maiden before him. Her and her dog needed to calm down and be reassured that they weren't in danger from him. Not that he was much of a threat to a person. Game certainly did need to fear him though as the critters on the rope had found out.

White eventually followed her human's lead and calmed down. She remained guarded but not openly defensive. Her gaze was more on the other dog than it was on Angela. Weylin and her continued to stay put and still while they waited.

Ishar Morrad Adam
 
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Adam kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, trying not to lose his footing in the slightly deep snow. The constant uphill had started to strain his body, and now his calves and thighs burned. But he was tough, both mentally and physically, so he kept going as others stopped to collect their breath. Some of the other men told him that his father must have been a mountain goat. To be honest, Adam had no reason to cast that notion into doubt. So he'd grin, and take the ribbing as what it was ... acknowledgement. He was starting to fit in among fighting men.

The idiot merchant Narfi was starting to fall behind. The young man of Healdwicc realised how far he had gotten in front of everyone else, and so took the opportunity to wait as the others collected Narfi and caught up to his vantage point. After a few seconds, Adam realised just how tired he was. Should have kept going. Now I'll never get started again. Adam placed a hand on his mule, practically placing his whole weight on the beast, and sucked in a few deep, cold mouthfuls of air. After another ten seconds of self-pity, noting the wet, freezing feeling in his toes, he looked up the slope.

Perhaps two hundred metres higher, he could make out a couple of figures. It was too far to assign their species or gender, but it looked like a confrontation of sorts. Adam knew he was in no condition to fight, acutely aware that his sword was probably frozen in its scabbard ... but he was curious. Not curious enough to do anything stupid though. Not yet.

Instead he raised a hand, eventually halting the rest of the small caravan, and kept a watchful eye on the two figures ahead.

Angela Ishar Morrad Weylin Kyrel
 
Angela breathed quickly as she watched the shadow come to a halt. There were reverberating growls issuing from both Dog and the shape in the undergrowth. It was closer now, and Angela could see that it was a man and a large white dog. The man looked human, and young of face. He held in his hand what looked like a bundle of fur, and seemed to hold it out almost in offering.

Angela jumped about a foot in the air when he suddenly threw an arrow into the snow. Dog barked once and shuffled agitatedly; not willing to attack without provocation or verbal command from his new, meeker master.

Distantly, Angela noticed the gabble from the valley had come to a stop. Trying to calm her racing heart, she looked hard at the stranger. Surely, he had crept up on her without warning. But he had not moved to attack yet. He was no orc, but that did not rule out vampire... or werewolf.

Angela lowered her sword and buried the tip in the snow. Her arms were tired from holding it up for so long. Breaths puffing steam into the air, she reached up and moved her curtain of white hair from her face, and tucked it behind her pointed right ear.

"What do you want?" She asked, short of breath from her shock. She blinked at the strange man and his large dog. One eye sharp grey, and the other clouded over white. Claw marks marred her face, forever scarred for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She really, really hoped this stranger wasn't a werewolf.

Weylin Kyrel Adam Ishar Morrad
 
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For a time the snow nymph just stood there with the sword pointed at Weylin. He just kept on holding out the rope with critters on it. Eventually she stuck it into the ground out of breath. She had worn herself out it seemed. He took the time waiting for this moment to study her and noticed her eyes. One of them looked to have been blinded. It was a familiar thing up here in the Spine. What was not familiar to him was the pointed ear she revealed after pushing back some of her hair. Did that mean she was a nymph or fairy of some kind after all? Had he been wrong to think otherwise?

The pointy eared maiden asked him what he wanted. Weylin thought it was obvious as he had followed the customs of the old folk perfectly. Seemed she might not be familiar with it. Maybe she was one of the settlers or from one of the towns along the river. She could also just be a spirit of some kind and was testing his intentions. No matter what, he figured it was best to just move along honestly.

"Food." Weylin said as he held the rope up a bit. "You need food. Here. You can have my prey."

Weylin hoped she took the rope soon. He was getting tired of standing there with it held out and one of his arrows getting exposed to the snow. It could corrode his iron tip or the resin in the shaft. It also was making White nervous to just sit there like that with what she knew was going to be her food being held out like that. Also the longer she took the closer night became and the less light he had to find some new prey for their dinner.

Despite all of his concerns, Weylin kept his eyes on Angela. It was never good to take your eyes off of a spirit after all. They might disappear or spawn some kind of illusion to trick you if you did. They also might just suddenly attack you or try to possess you. Too many tales ended poorly for those who took their eyes off of what was in front of them in the old folk's stories.

Ishar Morrad Adam
 
Angela furrowed her brow at the stranger and his proffered kills. He was standing motionless as if under some kind of spell. But no, he moved, just a tiny shift in weight. Although he may think his answer was clear, he had not answered her question. What did he want? If only to share, than what in exchange? She had no gold to offer him; and gone were the days where she was forced to offer herself. That was what freedom meant.

But he did not pose a threat. If he wanted to trade, she could try and talk to him she supposed. Angela sheathed her silver sword and reached over to smooth down Dog's hackles. She made a comforting shushing noise and stroked his ears. The shepherd backed down after hesitating for a moment, then fell into heel by her right knee. They hadn't known each other long, but Dog had learned he ought to cover her blind spot.

"Alright," muttered Angela. She took a few tentative steps forward, Dog shadowing her right side, and plucked the arrow out of the snow on her way. "Thank you, I guess. I have nothing to pay you with." She held out his arrow and reached out a gloved hand for the hunter's offering. Up close, she could see he was a bit scruffy (not that she had the best frame of reference) and had hazel eyes. Maybe... not a vampire, then?

Dog, as well trained as he was, leaned forward a little on his toes, nose working in the direction of the other dog. He stayed rooted to the spot at his master's side, but he couldn't help his curiosity. His tail twitched a bit.

Angela wondered if the hunter lived in the woods. His garb suggested it, in her limited knowledge, and she suppose it made sense. She'd lived in much worse conditions. Perhaps he was familiar with the land.

"Do-" she swallowed, anxious. "Do you know... how long it will take... for- for me to get to Kor Gorum from here?"

Weylin Kyrel
 
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From his perch, Ishar had seen them.

They were just distant specs to his eye, but still there. He wouldn't have caught their sight if it wasn't for the baleful paranoia that seemed to hang over him now. As soon as he saw the movement, as soon as he saw them stop, Ishar grabbed the nearby bucket of sand and dumped it over his fire.

Almost instantly the willowy wisp of smoke that had been keeping him warm was snuffed out.

His fingers tightened and he fell to his belly upon the cliffside, not wanting to risk being seen.

The former Templar allowed a few seconds to pass, listening to the thundering of his heart before he slowly began to crawl forward. The ledge greeted him a moment later, his head poking out just beyond it as he searched for the two distant spots within the tree-line.

When he found them, he froze, watching quietly and unaware of the caravan not too far away.
 
Weylin took his arrow back from Angela and handed the critters over to her. She mentioned something about payment, but that made no sense to him. The snow nymph really must be from a town if she was thinking in those terms this far out in the Spine. Which that raised the question of why she was so far out into the Spine. As cautious as she was being it had to be for reasons best left untouched for now.

"No need for payment. Just eat and survive." Weylin responded. Did she know how to gut and skin them properly? She might not based on their interactions so far. Best to ask. But before he could she asked him if he knew where this Kor Gorum place was at. He frowned a bit as he thought it over. Nothing was coming to mind even though it felt a little familiar. Had he heard someone bring it up before? It could have been from a tale also..... Oh right. His parents mentioned it once. He knew where it was at and so had an idea of how long it would take.

"Kor Gorum is almost a week by boat. Three by foot at least if nothing delays you." Weylin responded. It was a long way away from where they were at after all. "Do you know how to clean and prepare hare and squirrel? I can cook it for you."

Weylin didn't wait for a response from her. He moved to her fire and began to get ready to cook her meal for her. He started by getting the fire in better shape and then planned to get some sticks ready for the meat. He was even going to take care of the meat if she didn't know what to do. As he did that White just stayed close to her human and kept an eye on the other dog. Unlike their human, the dog knew what it was doing. Could be a threat to her human if he wasn't careful.

Ishar Morrad Adam
 
Angela's stomach dropped to her feet. Three weeks?! How could that be? Hopelessness and horror filled her as she realized there was no way should could make it. Not with the rations she had left. Ser Agarwal had not planned for this eventuality. He couldn't have... he couldn't have planned for his own death. If he were still alive, none of this would be happening. Angela didn't know what to do.

She had barely heard the hunter's question and realized she needed to reply when he was suddenly knelt down before her, restoking her fire. She blinked a few times, bemused and miserable, and wondered if this was a typical way for freemen to behave. After a moment of staring down at him, she slowly sat down on the log where she had broke fast earlier that morning.

"Erm," she murmur, but her voice came out a whisper. She cleared her throat thickly and tried again. "Ser Agarwal tried to teach me," she told the hunter. "He is... was... the Templar who saved me. He died." Angela paused to sniff wetly. "But he did all the hunting, before. I... I don't know how."

For a moment she sat there, in the middle of the freezing, unknown wilderness, a dead Templar's dog leaning against her knees and the reins of the same Templar's horse clutched in her hand. She sometimes had moments when she was convinced this was all a dream. A horrible sort of dream that gave you false hope and longing, and also the most horrible sadness. She knew that if it was a dream, she would wake up with manacles around her bony wrists... At least she would be free from this horrible life of unknowns. Did everyone live like this? Unsure and terrified, all the time?

Angela's right eye, damaged as it was, did not create tears. Her left one had no such problem. She set the small game the hunter had given her on the log beside her and hastily slipped off a glove. As she wiped her face, another thought occurred to her.

"Erm," she muttered again. "What... What would delay me?" She almost didn't want to know. Perhaps if she kept some hope that she would make it, she wouldn't have the chance to notice when she failed.

Dog's erect ears swiveled, his head tilted upwards as he leaned against his mistress's legs protectively. His nose was working in the direction of a distant cliff. And he definitely could smell something.

Weylin Kyrel Ishar Morrad Adam
 
About two hundred metres down the slope, a conversation had begun in earnest.

"There looks ta be only two of 'em," said Dane, the brawny tavern bruiser from Healdwicc who had an eye for silver. "Could stick 'em and split their stuff."

"No," said Adam. Still looking ahead and observing the odd pair, he could feel Dane's eyes snap around to stare at him. There would be suspicion in those tiny brown slits he called eyes; he knew he'd best avert it. Adam didn't feel the need to get knifed whie he was sleeping. "You really think anyone up here is carrying anything worth selling?"

The big man looked down at Adam, and the younger man responded with a stare of his own. A second passed, but it felt like a lifetime.

"Well ... there's only one way to find out," the bruiser said boldly. "You man enough, eh whoreson?"

"Nah," said Skarwic, his grizzled features folded into a frown. "The lad's right. No sense in making enemies on the road when you don't know what they're capable of. Could be mages, y'know?"

Dane nodded at that, not looking overly convinced. Adam watched him out of the corner of his eyes. That one didn't like being wrong, and he'd likely blame the young bastard for it. Adam's blood boiled from the whoreson gibe ... not the words themselves, but the fact he'd been disrespected in public. He wore his past like a cloak of pride, knowing everything he'd achieved and would achieve despite his lowest of births. But having it brought up in an argument? He was going to have to kill Dane now, otherwise men would think him weak. He couldn't be weak ... not when there was so much to achieve.

"I'm gonna go talk to 'em, see what the story is," he said. "Mebbe they have something to eat apart from hardtack."

Angela Ishar Morrad Weylin Kyrel
 
Something else caught his eye.

They were barely visible from his perch, though as one of the figures moved away from the others it became more and more obvious what they were. "A caravan?"

He frowned slightly.

What were so many people doing in such a remote place? Just his luck that he would go to one place in the world where he thought it would be safe and there happened to be a dozen people running around. A sigh escaped him, head shaking as he closed his eyes for just a few seconds.

This was a madness all it's own.

Glancing to the two lone figures on the other side of the valley he frowned for a moment, then looked back the other way.

With another heavy sigh and a shake of his head Ishar slowly began to crawl backwards. Perhaps he could not stay isolated after all.
 
The ice fairy was surprised and taken back by the time it would take for such a journey. It was a good distance away and across mostly untouched wilderness. Weylin wasn't sure why she would expect any less. Horses were not much good out in the Spine. Either the forests were too thick or the ground far to steep and rocky. The animal would be lucky to avoid a fatal leg injury. While she rethought her life plans though, he got the fire up and started to work on preparing the catch for her. Seemed she didn't know how to prepare the or how to hunt. Not a good thing out in the Spine.

"Sorry to hear you lost someone. Never easy to deal with lose." Weylin replied back to her with some sympathy in his voice. His parents deaths were still fresh on his own mind so it was something they seemed to have in common. He had gotten the hare and squirrel both gutted and skinned quickly. They were being placed onto his prepared sticks and over the fire when she asked him what could delay her in her travels. There were many things and as unprepared for this journey as she was it would only be good to tell her.

Before Weylin could say anything to her, the wind shifted (as it often did in the Spine) and White became alerted to something further up on a ledge from them along with the other dog. Seemed there was more than the group below to worry about. He looked over towards where they were alerted but couldn't make anything out well enough to say what it was. His senses might be sharp but they were not on the level of a beast such as a werewolf.

What Weylin did hear however was the sounds of movement coming towards them from the group below. It sounded of metal as well instead of leather or cloth so he went straight into full guarded status. He made a whistling command (one that those familiar with the Allirian guard might recognize) as he got his bow notched and drawn. White whipped her head around to the sound from below and got herself readied. A low growl came from her but wasn't loud enough for anyone but him, Angela , and her dog could hear it.

"Stop and declare yourself. I will not speak twice." Weylin projected his voice out so whoever it was approaching them could hear before they were within sight. After the attack by the orcs and his dealings with town folk, he was not about to trust a stranger. The snow nymph got a pass because she was so obviously helpless out here.

Adam Ishar Morrad
 
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The first thing that alerted Angela to the intruder was Dog leaping to his feet, his distraction with the odd scent he'd caught forgotten. Dog leaned as much as his weight on her as he could, practically crawling on top of her in a defensive stance. Baffled, Angela squirmed off the log and staggered to her own feet.

She then saw the hunter's dog at attention, growling lowly. Angela then realized what the whistle had been all about. She fumbled for her knife, tucked in a haphazard sheath in her too-large boot. She flipped it around, blade pointing behind her, just in case the new stranger was in fact passive. Her free hand reflexively clutched the front of her jacket, wings barely twitching underneath, out of sight.

"Stop and declare yourself. I will not speak twice," said the hunter forcefully.

Angela shrunk further behind Dog, who still hovered by her right side. This was far too much excitement for one day, if you asked her.

Weylin Kyrel Adam Ishar Morrad
 
As Adam drew closer, he distinguished differences between the two figures. One was a taller man, a hunter by the looks of him. The other, a small girl with white hair and an air of helplessness about her. Adam's eyes flitted about, searching for signs of their status. He found nothing of value. By the looks of things, these two were worse off than him and his.

When he was within earshot, the hunter commanded the young man to stop, aiming an arrow shaft at his chest. So he stopped, slowly bringing his hands up. If it wouldn't have been so demonstrative, he would have rolled his eyes.

"Relax,' said Adam, 'Only seeing if you got anything to trade."

He eyed both of them up and down, noting the two hounds that were eyeing him off as their next meals.

"Looks like a no."
 
The climb down the cliffs had not been a pleasant one, even less so because of the cold. By the time he made it down the jagged edge his fingers were half a bloodied mess.

Still, at least he hadn't been seen.

There was a path on the front of the cliffs that would have let him get down easy, but right now he didn't want to take any chances with the group that had now gathered within the valley below. There was no telling who they were or what they were doing here, and that was why he was being careful.

That was why he was now crawling through the snow.

Ishar didn't like it. He really didn't, but for all he knew these people were hunters looking for him. If they were they were fools, but still better to be careful.
 
Adam reassured them that he was no threat. Weylin was inclined to believe him based on the way the man was acting, but he was still cautious. Some people were very good at making a lie seem true. This man could be one of them. So he kept the arrow trained at him.

"We have small furs and pine nuts." Weylin called back to the man. He wasn't sure what the female he was with had on her, but traders didn't travel in armor. He knew that because his mom use to be one. This man was likely a guard and they could easily turn into a bandit as quickly as the flip of a falling leaf. "Any interest in either?"

White kept on guard and growling lowly at the man. It seemed that the dog with Angela was still the same way, but Weylin didn't know. He couldn't see the dog with his eyes facing away. Because of things with the armored man, neither the hunter nor his dog were aware of what Ishar Morrad was doing.
 
Angela hastily turned her left hip away from the stranger. Her sword, hilt gleaming in it's sheath, and her only means of protection was pure silver. It t'was made for the slaying of vampires, werewolves and undead. She would sooner perish than part from it. But it was valuable; even she knew that. But she was shaking her head, white hair whipping back and forth.

"S-Sorry..." she whispered. She could barely be heard over the wind. "I haven't... haven't any c-c-coin to make a tr-trade, either."

She breathed deeply through her nose, tottering with slight imbalance as Dog leaned against her right knee protectively. She hopped away and re-sheathed her dagger. Then she reached for Dog's hip and smoothed his hackles down again, shushing tentatively.

Confusedly, she turned her gaze up and to the side at a ledge above. The one Dog had alerted to earlier. Had she heard something? Squinting, she couldn't make anything out... Oh, well.

Weylin Kyrel Adam Ishar Morrad
 
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