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.