Syeira's horse plodded along placidly.  The vardo wagon jostled and bounced about at the whim of the ice crusted ruts that comprised this frozen road.  The horse did not seem perturbed in the least the frozen corpses.  In truth, they did not irk her overly but her horse was quite oblivious.  There was no point in going back as she strongly suspected, given the sudden change in season, that going back would not return her thence she came.  Fate decreed this for some reason.  Be it the will of the gods or something else it had been decided for her.  Thus she continued forward.

In time she approached a number of what seemed to be adventurers.  At least, that's what an eclectic group of warriors, clergy and who knew what else evoked in her mind.  They seemed newly met, certainly not a cohesive group from the way they held themselves apart from one another.

"Hail travelers," she greeted them, waving one hand decorated in circles and symbols in henna ink, "I do believe I am lost.  By Waukeen's coin, pray someone tell me where we are?"