The blonde mule was a figure of beauty amidst the drab desolation that surrounded them.  The wind felt chill against her exposed skin and she found herself wishing she'd had more opportunity to pack before the army fell into rout.  Reaching up she ran her thumb along her pointed ear, gold and silver bracelets clinking together.  

Assallya looked over the town that they stood upon the edge of and frowned.  The clothes still being upon their lines couldn't be the only clue.  She gazed at the chimneys for signs of smoke, smelled at the air for signs of cooking food or signs of rotting corpses or spilled blood from the murdered villagers.  How long did it take for a corpse to smell anyways?

What would really be useful would be scrying within the buildings.  That would take some clean water, and a fair amount of time to perform the rituals.  Something she suspected Dorian wouldn't appreciate waiting upon.

"Is anyone here skilled in tracking?" the blonde courtesan asked.