[hr][hr][center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Road North of Salarn, Day Two[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] His Thoughts [/center][/b][hr][hr]

	It wasn't quite a crunch. It wasn't quite a splat. It was the heavy footfall of a rather large man, crunchsplatting repeatedly in the advancing morning's overcast dim. Keystone's thick boots continued this rhythmic cadence of smooshed gravelly mud alongside Cremwise's wagon, filled with mystery cargo that their company was paid to protect. At least, some of the present company. A number of fellow travelers had met up with the wagon over the past night and day. 

	Safety in numbers, and whatnot. Just as long as their numbers didn't piss each other off too much. Still, Keystone had the idea in his head that, if pressed against a common enemy, they would choose to help each other. At least until the next safe settlement was reached. For the moment, that was good enough for Keystone. 

	In so much as he had pointed out the folly of pushing the animals too hard and making time to set up a proper camp, Keystone would have given a kidney (or another hot meal) for a dry, out of the way spot in which to hole up; simultaneously, logic screamed at him that, in this kind of rain, anything they unpacked would quickly get soaked and the animals would get little in the way of rest. They had to keep moving regardless, unless shelter of some kind, either natural or constructed, made itself available. Until then, the injured or overly weary took their rest in the wagon, the rest plodded along outside in the driving rain. 

	In regard to that, Keystone was in better condition than most. He had thick, sturdy boots and a hooded long coat of masterfully crafted hide. While being out in this weather wasn't pleasant, he had some practical protection. Now that the weather was turning colder, it was a useful piece of equipment. 

	Still, onward he plodded in the road, displacing the earth beneath him with a steady crunchsplat next to the repeating creak of the wagon's axle. He constantly scanned their surroundings with bright, observant eyes, but in an attempt to pass the time in the interim, he inquired with a weary voice, 

	[color=b8860b]"Oy, where're you lot from, then? Any o' you locals?"[/color]