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	[u]Weather[/u]: Partly cloudy, cold. Winds are beginning to pick back up.
 
	[u]Time[/u]: A touch after midday. The brighter spot in the overcast sky above the clouds is more or less above the party.

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The landscape has its own charm, distinctly separate from a lush woodland or adventurous beachside. Low hills undulate out to the horizon with patches of different colors dappling the land in browns, greens, and unexpected florals which hug tightly to the ground. Copses of trees are a little more sparse here than the idyllic setting around the Avonshire Township, which only makes them easier to pick out in the distance. The river, as always, winds to and from the road in a more meandering path, occasionally making its presence known by a light, watery murmuring. If it were a little warmer, one would be utterly surrounded by excellent spots for a picnic. 


[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]

 	Knowledge of some several people in your general vicinity, mostly on smaller, connecting paths to the main, does not really blunt the stark difference present in the determined stride of the group coming up from the south. If the information passed along via raven is accurate, there may be a touch of negativity present in the Moors of Avonshire. But this is not to be a certainty for a bit of time yet. 

	The group in the distance dips out of sight behind the rise of a lower hill. It is credible that this is not an act of deception so much as it is the natural progression of one following the lay of the main road. In any case, conservative estimates give them a bit of time before the groups meet. 

	Cecily gave only a cursory glance in the direction of the others on the road, apparently not paying it a lot of mind. She did give a response to Baronfjord's assessment of her pie, once it crystalized in her head that he was speaking to her. In truth, she seemed distracted. [color=darkgray][i]"Sharp nose, Mr. Chedgusah. But no, it is not my recipe at all. I bought it back in the Township just this morning."[/i][/color] It was a small pie, just large enough for one as a meal or two, if side items made an appearance on the plate. [color=darkgray][i]"Plenty of sheep and shepherds off the beaten path down in the Moors that have good recipes for a lamb and onion pie, if you want me to introduce you while you're with us."[/i][/color] 

	The continued possibility of drama gave Lizbeth a restless look. Duties done, she risked a quick smile and word or two in Kathryn's direction for the help, and returned to her aunt for lunch. Before finding someplace quiet with her half of the pie, the little girl climbed the side of the wagon and risked a look. [color=darkgray]"Where? Oh, [i]there[/i]. Still a while off. We have time to eat."[/color] she said flatly. But the fact that she was talking was an improvement, and testament to the resilience of children. 

	Both of the L'Roses listened to the monologue from Kathryn and froze in their positions, with food halfway to their mouthes and an odd expression. Far be it for any of them to pass judgement on those who saved their lives, limbs, and sanity in the face of overwhelming dark magic and wererat-ery, but it was not quite the casual lunch conversation to which they were accustomed. Their previous lives seemed like they were so very long ago, now that they had been introduced to some of the more dangerous things of their realm. A touch of strange conversation at mealtime was expected, apparently. Once lunch was done, however, they did hitch their oxen back to the wagon and hop on board, per suggestion of their impromptu bodyguards. 

	There was indeed time to see to one's meal, so long as it was taken cold, and get ready to leave by the time the other wagon was clear and visible. Within shouting distance, even. And shout they did - or one of the Halflings driving the wagon did, at any rate.  [color=darkgray]"HO THERE!"[/color] came the bellow, louder than one might expect from one of the shorter folk. [color=darkgray]"IS THAT YOU, MADAME L'ROSE?"[/color] The wagon and the irregularly armed Humans drew closer. At about stone-throwing distance, they stopped. [color=darkgray]"Ho there! We head for the Township in hopes that Constable Cavendish can get some guards out our way! Farmer Laurent's sheep have been [i]massacred[/i], and the last of the gleanings cannot be done for fear of the workers' safety! We need help. Really soon."[/color]