Private Tales Taming Eretejva

[Faurosk]

Author's Note: While the title may be written as 'Taming Eretejva', the correct pronunciation is more along the lines of 'Oh, gods above, this place will be the death of me'. Thank you for your consideration.

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He had only been in Eretejva for two days, and Faurosk the Clever was already growing sick of it.

His normally silken robes had been swapped out for- or rather, transmuted into -a much warmer ensemble of clothing. He instead wore a padded gambeson meant to keep heat in and the cold out, a lengthy scarf wrapped twice around his neck, and a hat that kept his head from freezing off while barely containing his unruly mass of hair. Even after all this, the mage still felt abysmally cold.

His arrival in the small portside town of Hofsteir was met with little more than a healthy dose of distrust; Considering he’d arrived onboard a less-than-trustworthy trading vessel that came to the tundra in an attempt to pawn off cheap textiles as ‘Allirian Cotton’, Faurosk frankly couldn’t blame the locals for their wariness. They were quick to warm to his presence, however, when he told wild stories of adventures and daring to a gathered group of children around the public house’s hearth. He even performed minor feats of prestidigitation along the way, keeping his audience of both the young and the old entirely enthralled. They were all true tales, of course… Though some details were exaggerated for dramatic effect.

It was only when the mage asked around for a map the following morning that he began to feel regretful for his little expedition. Apparently no such artifact existed in the town, save for verbal directions to the nearest landmarks this way and that. It should come as no surprise then that when Faurosk heard word of a well-known guide’s arrival in town, he was quick to jump at the opportunity.

He would seek out this ‘Sigrith’ fellow, wherever he may be.

Sigrith

 

[Sigrith]

Hofsteir stood as one of the larger trading ports along the southwest coastline of Eretejva. Which was not to say it wasn't large in any capacity to someone who hailed from Elbion. It did not commit even a fraction of the footprint of that major trading city, but for the people of this desolate land it was a veritable hive of activity. A dozen or so new comers weekly, most just to trade and be on their way, a few to travel or hunt. Every now and then one foolish soul sought to relocate to the wilds here - rarely did they last long.

This was not a place for sight-seers or tourists. It was a land for the coarse and hardy. Faurosk stuck out like a sore, frozen thumb.

He'd been told to search for Sigrith in the encampment to the east. If the guide was there and taking customers a large three-eyed raven would be perched atop the tent. If not, better luck next time.

It just so happened when Faurosk reached the encampment and meandered through the tents a large, three-eyed raven was about. It was not perched atop a tent, however, but atop what appeared to be a carved wooden totem. Faurosk wouldn't know the significance of this differing perch location and no one in the encampment would likely tell him, but the fire nearby seemed fresh and so did the footprints around it.

Haaww, cried the raven, looking right at him, haaaaw!

 

[Faurosk]

The mage cast a wary glance to the three-eyed raven upon his approach, giving it a brief bow. "Haww haww to you, too, friend," Faurosk thought before continuing into the encampment. "I'm sorry to intrude, my feathered-friend, but I seek your Maester." The mage spoke softly as he wandered closer, assuming that such a bird wasn't native to Eretejva. Must be a familiar of some sort-- So this 'Sigrith' man was a practitioner, after all. Intriguing.

"Hello?" He called out as he neared the camp's outermost edge, looking around towards the fire and tent. The footprints seemed fresh enough to his untrained eyes, so the fellow he sought must be close. "I'm looking for someone by the name of Sigrith-- I don't suppose you're in, are you?"

 

[Sigrith]

Haaaa-ooowl to the tundra sun! replied the raven.

Shuffling sounds from within the tent, a grunt, a growl, scraping. Moments later the flap fluttered in the non-existent breeze as a nearly-clothed woman of inordinate musculature stepped forth. Tendrils hung from her head in unkempt dredlocks and braids, falling from coal to ash about her shoulders. The skin exposed to the chill air was pale as pale could be for anything of the living realm, and the dark-rimmed eyes she set upon the man were mismatched in color and weird in nature.

She stepped past him with a nonchalant air, arms lifting to push the hoard of unruly hair from her face and up into tie.

"What is it you want?"

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk eyed the raven cautiously-- He'd been with his familiar, Nota, for months, and the bugger had never uttered so much as a syllable. The mage thought briefly on whether or not his bestial companion had been holding out on him, though his musings were brought to an abrupt close as noises from the tent heralded a stranger's arrival. He instinctively reached for a staff that wasn't there, quietly cursing Pandemonium for robbing him of his prized focus.

A woman raised herself out of the tent following the chorus of waking sounds. She came up to around Faurosk's nose, yet she was nearly as broad as he was-- And she was a hell of a lot more muscular. Briefly, self consciousness flickered through the caster's mind before he realized that the tent-dweller was only 'covered' in the loosest of terms. Pale skin met the frigid air without so much as a hint of gooseflesh, and the mage found himself turning away politely. His gaze flickered to the raven, still pompously perched atop a totem of some sort.

Faurosk liked the raven; It was far less intimidating and substantially less nude than the woman.

"I, ah-- I'm seeking a guide. Sigrith. I take it I've found hiii-- er. Her." Still looking anywhere but directly at the witch, he threw her a brief, questioning glance. Clearly, he'd fallen well and truly out of his element.

 

[Sigrith]

Cold registered for a Nord on a similar level as wind. These chilly southern Eretejva temperatures were closer to a pleasant breeze - a day at the beach, if you will, for one such as she. The woman paid the man little mind as to where his eyes were or were not going.

HAWW! Said the raven, A rose by any other name would be just as prickly!

The witch eyed her pet at the snide remark, stepping past the totem as she made way to the fire and collecting the over-sized avian upon her shoulder with a flap and a hop.

"Aye," replied the woman as she moved to stir the contents of a large black pot hung over the fire, "and where are you looking to go?"

 

[Faurosk]

The mage couldn't help but crack a lopsided smile at the Raven's remark, and a small amount of tension released from his overly tight shoulders. As the Nord took her familiar onto a shoulder, Faurosk's gaze lingered on the bird for a few moments before turning to take in Sigrith's features. Mismatched eyes, ritual shading, and the most peculiar hair he'd ever seen... If the three-eyed raven wasn't a sign enough, he was now nearly certain she was a practitioner of the arcane.

"I'm afraid you're already a step ahead of me, Sigrith." His voice went back to its natural baritone, and his previous stumbling was almost entirely ironed away. "I know little of this land, but-- Well, put simply, I lost something a decade or so ago. Wandering my homelands has done little good in the way of bringing me closer to reclaiming it, so I made the potentially fatal mistake of coming to Eterejva."

A grim laugh burbled its way out of the summerlander's chest, as though his dire circumstances were something to be taken lightly. "Figured a guide would do me well, so I sought you out. I can admit my shortcomings, and hostile environments are far from my forte."

 

[Sigrith]

"Thought you'd find what you lost up here in the snow, did you..."

This was not a place one came to without a plan. Not lands for wasteful wanderings. She wanted to tell the man these things, but the fact remained that she'd been wandering the Eretejva tundra aimlessly searching for something she'd never had to begin with for ten years now. The only difference being she was born and raised here - well equipped and trained to survive in a place that heedlessly claimed the lives of the unwary.

She did not often ask questions or seek out curiosities about others. Perhaps that was why she wandered so. Failure to find answers to questions unasked. Still, wasn't a habit she was about to start now.

Dichromatic gaze shifted back to him, taking in his wardrobe and the telltale stance of a summerlander in the freeze. Frozen balls made any man stand like he had something to protect.

"so you want me to ... what, exactly? Take you on a tour?"

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk granted the woman a curious look at her question, cocking his head off to one side in thought. His legs hung close together for warm, yet a cool breeze rolling past still sent a shiver rocking up his spine. "Thought I'd find something. Just what? Ah, I'm not sure yet."

In a truth he wasn't yet willing to share, Faurosk knew why he went to the frozen over hell of Eretejva. A memory had called him, beckoned him to the North on promises of half-remembered songs and frosted windows, of warmth and clarity he hadn't known in years. Not since the days before Elbion filled his mind with academia.

"As for what I want from you, well... Not sure yet. You certainly look capable, and having someone to watch my back and make sure I'm breathing--... Let's just say that's a luxury I've rarely found on the road." A shrug met the mage's already tight shoulders, raising them a minute amount before settling back into a high strung position. "I'll pay you, for whatever that's worth. All I really need is someone to follow; If you wouldn't mind having me, I can be sure to stay out of your way."

 

[Sigrith]

This was certainly one of the odder requests she'd gotten in a while, which was saying something coming from a witch. He had no heading and no true purpose. He simply wanted to ... follow her around?

A dark brow shifted upwards in mild consternation, Sigrith shook her head once with a grunt.

"You're ill-equipped to survive where I'm going," if the man thought it was cold now, she couldn't wait to see how quickly he froze once she headed north. Nevertheless, a witch was hard pressed to turn down an ask for help if payment was promised in advance. She lifted a hand and gestured back to the town, "go back to the town shoppe, tell the Keep you're going north to Witherpeak. I leave before daybreak tomorrow."

Haw, haw! Climb into the glacier's grave Halladay Halladay broken slave.

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk furrowed his brow momentarily at the witch's analysis of his equipment. He'd made his clothing to the best of his knowledge, yet the Nord undoubtedly knew better than he did. Besides, she was dressed as though she planned to sunbathe in the abysmal chill of that midday overcast. If it was her judgement that he should be better equipped, he'd just need to trust her on that.

"Alright, then." The man took a pair of long strides forwards, looping one thumb through his belt while offering Sigrith a hand. "I know your name, you'd best know mine." It was a sign of trust unbecoming of Faurosk's usual unease. Who knew what a witch could do with one's full name? Or any spellslinger worth their weight, for the matter. "Faurosk. Faurosk Braun Drewry."

It was a strange name for a number of reasons. First off, Forest? With a K? Bah. But more interesting to the Nord, his surname was one most fitting for an ignorant summerlander, yet his middle name was entirely Eretejvan in its simplicity.

"I'd imagine we'll be meeting again come morning." A smirk with the faintest trace of cheek spread across the wizard's face, and his voice dipped into friendly humor for the briefest of moments. "Until then, conjure by my name at your own risk."

 

[Sigrith]

Pausing in her ministrations to the pot over the fire, the witch looked from the man to his offered hand and back again. Handshake - not a wholly customary approach up north. Depending on the clan and the people, greeting gestures varied from bowing, to shoulder grasps, to arm clasps, to a punch in the face. Somehow a handshake just seemed so tame.

Juvenile, even.

Sigrith leaned forward to grasp at the man's lower arm, catching him just before the elbow with a firm grip that might break a bone if she twisted just right, "We don't shake hands here, Braun." Her other hand moved his to her arm in reciprocation. Then she released him, her own face unsmiling.

If Sannoru were here she was certain the elf would be scoffing at the man.

"Before daybreak. If you mean to follow, you best keep up."

 

[Faurosk]

A small sound of surprise came from the mage as Sigrith took an all too firm grip of his forearm, jerking him just slightly closer. His own hand clasped on hers in return as she guided him to do so, but it was all he could do to resist gulping back fear. "Right, no shaking." His words were a touch hushed, as if he'd just stuck his hand into a fire and recoiled at the pain. "And no jokes, either," his thoughts ran, less kind or reverent than his tongue.

"And I really prefer Faurosk." His hand left her arm, and his shoulder twisted back to wrench his arm free of her grasp. "Last person to call me by anything else stole my clothes and might've tried to eat me," the mage continued, smile fading to a deadpan look that lingered heavily around his eyes. Just because humor wasn't Sigrith's speed didn't mean he couldn't keep himself entertained. "It's a blur, really."

With a roll of the wrist, a pop issued forth from the mage's arm. Years of quill use does wonders for one's body. "You'll see me before daybreak, and I'll be sure to keep pace," His voice droned out, lacking the previous pep he'd carried. In truth, he was simply repeating her orders back in his own words, primarily to help himself remember-- Not that it's easy to forget what anyone so burly as Sigrith had demanded, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

 

[Sigrith]

It was even colder in the pre-dawn hours, a roar from the west heralding the incoming storm that Sigrith had sensed deep down in her bones. The town had felt it, too. In the twilight hours, after Faurosk had spent a few more coin at the supply shoppe, he'd found himself amidst a flurry of battening-down along the main thoroughfare. Windows shuttered, doors locked in place, animals stowed away in small barns. The firewood stand had been cleaned out and the meat market packed up.

He managed to find himself an empty room at the inn next door to the supply shoppe.

The lull of wolfsong and the gale of the winds filled the hours between then and now.

Down at the encampment the fires were withered beyond any remnant of hot coals. Sigrith collected the rest of her rations and wrapped them in salted leather. By the time Faurosk would find her she was fully clothed and packed, broad shoulders holding the weight of her entire life. The witch shifted her pack and bedroll into place overtop the ebony wolf pelt hung over her shoulders. The three-eyed raven was nowhere to be seen, but she was sporting pauldrons of midnight black feathers that fluttered in the wind.

A nod was what she offered to him, bright eyes cast behind a smearing of black, before she set off along a worn footpath leading north.

"We don't stop until we reach the mountain pass." Hard to say just which one she meant, they were surrounded by mountains. Dead ahead of them the silhouette of the jagged peaks sat against the paling sky, quite a distance away.

 

[Faurosk]

The night had been a brutal one, and Faurosk was no stronger for it. When he finally made his way back to the encampment over sheets of fresh snow, however, he was certainly better equipped for the northern trek. Layers of heavy cloth and furs covered him from head to toe, though these additions were covered by a heavy cloak whose hood draped down past the mage's face. While also hidden, the notable change in the summerlander's stance was a sign that, yes, he had even padded out his crotch against the cold.

"By all means, Sigrith, do lead the way." Faurosk pretended that he hadn't been catching his breath when his guide began walking. He caught up in short order, plodding along only a few feet in Sigrith's footprints. A songbird gave two sharp sounds of greeting somewhere far off amidst the distant hills, muffling across the barren expanse of snow. "Beautiful view," the summerlander finally spoke up after a record-breaking minute of silence. "Magnificent desolation."

Beyond that, though, Faurosk fell quiet. It was the least he could do, given Sigrith's all too kind agreement to lead his sorry ass along for the ride. If she chose to begin conversation, though, he found he'd be quick to follow suit. Anything to distract from the distance they had left to travel and the ceaseless crunch of untrodden land underfoot.

 

[Sigrith]

Sigrith did not respond, preferring the maintained silence to begin her journey. Helped her to hear the rhythm of the world around her, allowing her to match the harmony of things with her own gait and breath. This quietude was small between them but enormous in scope. Eretejva was extremely loud and incredibly close to those that knew it well - but just the opposite for those unfamiliar.

After what felt like an hour, perhaps two, the flat tundra had left them for jutting hills and frozen stone. Green in the form of a scant forest belt at the base of the mountain pass several hours ahead had appeared on the horizon, peeking out from the rise and fall of the valley's many undulating rolls.

A shallow stream singing through the cobble and naked rocks shone beneath the sun, they crossed it without pause. By midday the sun had already begun to sink towards the west and two moons were peacefully hovering in its wake. It would be a clear night. A good night for a campfire in the open, beneath the aurora at the head of the mountain pass.

The first break in their trek came as they crested a rise of stone to encounter a segmented valley where that same stream cut through like a winding serpent. There along the flowing waters was a large herd of caribou drinking and resting.

Sigrith peered out into the bright scene, taking mental stock of the herd, "There's less desolation than you might think."

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk grew secretly happy to continue in silence. His skin had pricked up into gooseflesh when he'd first struck a deal with Sigrith, and his gut had slowly built a feeling as though he were trodding on glass with every misspoken words. So the mage did what he was best at as their wordless adventure persisted and observed the world that had swallowed him whole, taking in every sound and sight the land offered him.

Distant greenery rose from the ground to skirt the mountains. A burbling stream cut its way along the stone. Twin lovers awoke steadily over the horizon. Everything seemed to be following the natural order, albeit a number of hours earlier than the wizard was used to. Even as the sun set and the day wound down at a far faster pace than he would have expected, Faurosk still found himself enthused to stop as his guide came to crest an outcropping of stone.

Water carved elegantly across the plain below, winding to and fro like a painter's brush along the world's canvas. While Faurosk didn't necessarily flinch at Sigrith's words, her voice did come as something of a surprise to him as she looked out across the herd-- Startling as it was, hearing her speak wasn't exactly unpleasant after so many hours of aching silence. "If I'm being honest, I stole that quote."

Faurosk shook his head, smiling just faintly in spite of his weariness. "Something I read a, ah... Well, it feels like a long, long time ago. In retrospect, the line doesn't exactly apply to this place, but one can't swallow words already spoken."

 

[Sigrith]

The witch turned a side look at the man, hot breath billowing from her nostrils as clouds.

"They were good words until you started making excuses for them."

There was nothing more to say on the matter. Out here, in the deathly cold, talking too much could kill you. With a shrug of broad shoulders the woman shifted the weight of her affects and pressed back on the path they took. The herds gave them wary birth, dispersing as their strides carried them through the winding valley. Night would fall well before they reached the mountain pass.

Here Sigrith led the man to a cave off the west end of the path. Wooden boards covered the entrance in a heavy latch-locked door of which she opened with key from her figure. Inside was dark as dark could be, still cold but less bitingly so now that they were out of the winds. Supply crates, jars, boxes lined shelved walls. Two beds sat at the back on either side of a large dugout firepit fixed by self-feeding iron bars. It was there she went first, taking kindling from a box and settling in to start a small fire.

"Load the iron rungs with firewood. Start slow to let the fire catch a log," a hand motioned towards the back of the cave where stacks upon stacks of cut firewood awaited, barely visible from the small flames now caught on the kindling, "I'll start getting a stew together."

 

[Faurosk]

The mage blew a pair of panting laughs out of his nose, nodding off to one side in concession to Sigrith's point. "Funny, then, that the only good words weren't my own." The wasn't a trace of introspection to Faurosk's observation. He had said many foolish things in the past, and it was doubtless he would do so well into the future. Nevertheless, the witch's frankness was admirable.

The odd pair continued in a comfortable sort of silence, accompanied only by the faint crunch of the landscape underfoot and the occasional haggard breath on Faurosk's part. Even the air bit with chill, reaching previously untouched depths in the mage's lungs with every swallow of air. He was thankful as Sigrith chartered their course off the valley path, spotting the cave only a short distance away. A break was in order, that much proved certain.

The interior was well stocked at first glance, lined with containers innumerable if only for the fact that Faurosk couldn't be bothered to count them. It was a short walk to the back of the cave, at which point the mage gathered up a generous armful of firewood and hauled it back to the dimly burning pit. His knees ached and creaked as he lowered himself to kneel beside the kindling, laying more substantial cuts of wood across the embers and setting his excess supply off to the side.

Sigrith was well prepared. While the mage was content to keep this observation to himself, he felt more assured about his guide's reputation now that he was able to put facts to rumors.

Faurosk let his gloved hand rest gently against the first log. He could feel latent energy thrumming within the cut of firewood, practically shaking itself towards combustion. Without realizing he was doing it, the mage brought his thumb and index finger together, readying a snap to spark the log alight. Luckily, the thinking part of his mind caught on to habit taking hold, and he simply stared at his pinched digits before resting his hands back in his lap.

Patience. Some thought it a virtue, other saw it as more of an impediment. Perhaps the wizard should figure out which camp he fell into.

 

[Sigrith]

She'd taken up a stool and a large cast-iron pot, pulling out boxes of dried meat in salt and stored vegetables. Set to work cutting up the necessary amounts of each, Sigrith glanced up as the man paused in his own task. In the darkness of the cave her bi-chromatic eyes gave an eerie glow; left of violet, right of blue.

"It's not a crime," she remarked after a moment, going back about her work, "heat and light can mean the difference of life and death here. If you've magic to make it, don't waste time."

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk sat in the faint glow of the kindling for a long few moments, glancing to Sigrith and measuring the truth in her words. Her eyes caught what little light flitted around the room, reflecting back a glow that was only as spectacular as it was eerie. The mage swallowed silently and gave a nod, turning back to the split logs before him.

"Alright," he said, placing gloved hand gently on the lowest piece of firewood. The burning kindling did little to discomfort Faurosk, and he once more reached out to the thrumming energy begging the log for release. Two syllables rode across the mage's tongue- hushed, practiced, and coaxing. "Ignis," he requested, and the single piece of firewood leapt alight.

Faurosk sat back onto his heel, piling the iron bars high with enough wood to last the morning before finally resting fully onto his rear. He quickly pulled his gloves free, holding the bare skin of his hands to the flames. While his left hand was only marked by a small ouroboros tattoo wrapped around his ring finger, his right hand was almost entirely covered with arcane glyphs and sigils. Any unmarked skin merely remained to constitute the negative space necessary for the aforementioned marks.

"I'm thankful you're so accepting, Sigrith," the mage said, casting a subdued yet friendly smile her way. "Not all practitioners are as open to other domains as you are."

 

[Sigrith]

A glance was all that was given as the man cast his spell. Foreign words here, but even Witches knew of the more college-level approach to such things. They scoffed at it in much the same way others scoffed at them for their own weird proclivities. Acceptance wasn't a universal thing anywhere, to anyone.

"It's only fire, Braun," she replied distractedly, "hardly something to fuss over."

Ingredients cut, Sigrith took up an empty wooden bowl and made for the exit, stepping outside long enough to collect a sizeable pile of snow. She returned, closing the entry door behind her and plunging the cave into a darkness filled only with what light his fire produced. The snow was dumped over the ingredients and the pot set upon a hook over the fire. A wooden spoon quietly stirred the contents as it melted.

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk laughed quietly- a tired, somewhat hoarse sound. He pulled his gloves back on once the heat of his hands reached a less bone-rattling level, flexing his fingers casually into the well-worn leather. "Doubly glad you think so, then," he maintained, shrugging off his bag and placing it behind his back for support. The mage doffed his hat next, unfurling a wild, matted forest of hair that fell back across his head as if in a continuous tousle.

He watched Sigrith work with more interest than one might have expected. For all the study he'd put into mastering the laws and equations of the world, 'cooking' was one formula he had never truly cracked. As the entryway was pushed shut, the sounds of the outside world grew more distant. Wind no longer swelled in and out of the cave, and once more, peaceful silence fell upon the duo, only interrupted by the occasional 'tumm' of the wooden spoon checking the pot's side.

For once, Faurosk didn't feel a need to fill the quiet. Like the travels of the night's preceding day, silence slipped on its merry way and comfort settled in.

 

[Sigrith]

And silence worked just as well for the Witch. Their stew boiled, filling the cave with the smell of sustenance that felt quite pungent on the nose compared to the sterility of ice and snow. Sigrith served their portions out in two wooden bowls, taking her time to eat her own while the pot cooled. After both had finished it off she stepped back outside to scrub them with snow before stowing them away in their place.

She sat at the fire's edge for some time following, staring into the flames while smoking a pipe. When she retired to one of the beds a new storm had just rolled in, the howling winds whispering beyond the door.

They were abruptly awaken an hour before sunrise by heavy pounding on the door and yelling from outside. In the waning light of a slowly dying fire, the sound of a snarl too coarse to be human echoed from beneath the furs of Sigrith's bed. She was on her feet, staggering slightly through her wakefulness, and taking up her bow with arrow from her bedside.

"Stay where you are," she hissed at Faurosk, making way to the door and reaching it just as it were kicked in. There was a sudden explosion of snow and pale light inwards, falling from the figure of a large man.

Sigrith yelled something several times in what sounded to be three separate languages - or at the very least, dialects. The third try seemed to catch their attention. The man stepped in, removing a fur hat from his head to reveal a bald and tattooed skull. His furs and figure were covered in snow and ice and his breath was hot like a volcano threatening with smoke. There was an exchange, two more men stepped in - one looked quite young and exhausted.

"Feas-gar, feas-gar," Sigrith offered finally, lowering her bow and gesturing to the fire, "talma dun. Ey - komman?"

"Sa, komman," the lead man nodded, ushering the other two forward, "thanke, thanke. We get caut inne strom. Thut we mek afore."

"Iz guut, sa? It mebbe bit full here, hahah," said the second man.

"We were leaving come sunup," Sigrith replied, moving to her bed to take up her things, "stores are full. I'll get you some snow to boil, eh?"

"Thanke, yes," said the first.

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk's silence miraculously extended well into the night, with the only sound on his end being the occasional sigh of growing comfort from the fire's warmth and a thankfully full stomach. Upon emptying his bowl, he returned it to Sigrith with a silent nod of gratitude. The witch had not proven nearly as talkative as many of the mage's past companions had been, and- damn him to Pandemonium for thinking so -Faurosk was thankful for it. The rest of his night was spent the same way he frequently weaned himself off into slumber. He sat a comfortable distance from the flame, thumbing through a book unremarkable in its dimensions save for the hundreds of finely-kept pages it held between its covers.

Faurosk spent a great deal of time turning from page to page, scanning over countless formulae and glyphs out of well-practiced habit. Sigrith had turned in for bed shortly before the wizard was done wrestling knowledge back into his head, though he went off to a bed of his own before reaching the end of his usual meditation. After all, did he really need to prepare a spell like 'language comprehension' for a day of walking? He'd covered the important ones, that's what mattered.

The mage's dreams were peaceful, at least to begin with. A child sat with his mother under a wide, squat tree. Sunlight flitted between the leaves, dancing across the ground in golden shades too vibrant to be true. "Now listen, Braun," the woman said in a voice entirely kind and foreign. "This is the important part."

Before she could spin the familiar tale of The Way of Things and faith older than the Gods themselves, Faurosk was startled awake by an abrupt hammering at the door. He shot upright in his bed, snatching up his belt from where he had set it beside himself. Before he could draw his trusty knife, however, Sigrith hissed at him to stay put. Ever obedient in the face of pretty intimidating, tired women, the mage cast his belt aside and stayed perfectly, absolutely still.

The witch's following exchange ripped past him with only the vaguest gleaming of details on his part. Caught in a storm, these men were here to stay, Sigrith was going to get them snow... As everyone made their place comfortably into the den, Faurosk shakily rose to his feet and began to calmly pack his supplies. He caught Sigrith's eye and nodded casually. "I take it we'll be making our leave, then...?" The light of day had yet to creep past the cave's entryway, but it couldn't be all too far off-- Not by Faurosk's estimate, anyhow.