Sensitive creatures, horses. Powerful, majestic, and fast, yes, but sensitive, like so many other animals. They have a sixth sense, animals. At least, most of them do. Alas, the horses occupying the stables in the town all had a too keen of a dose of that extra sense, making them all fearful and antsy in Rayadell’s presence as they sensed the aura of dark magic about her, leaving her to travel to Caldavail on foot. Which was just fine by her.
	She traveled through the forest and plains, heading east. She passed nearly no one on the road. Only a single cart drawn by horses heading west shattered the relative quiet of the forest. But the trees were all the company Rayadell wanted. Alas, the further east she went, traveling into the more unfamiliar territory of the Eastwood forests, the gentle, comforting whisper of the trees grew quiet, more reluctant to let her hear them. Soon, even their reluctance turned to silence.
	Until, near the eastern pass, a wind rustled the leaves and a single tree sent a whisper her way, a sound that was more a feeling than an actual word:
	[i]Orcs.[/i]
	Scowling, Rayadell slunk into the forest, letting the plants conceal her. When the sounds of the Orcs’ gruff language reached her sensitive ears, with swift movements and staff still in hand, she got to her hands and knees and slunk through the undergrowth, careful to not rustle so much as a single leaf.
	Pushing aside a branch of a shrub to get a look at the encampment beyond, she saw the billowy black smoke of a fire rising above the trees not far from her. Traversing the treetops, she soon had the Orcs’ temporary campsite in view. With their slightly tinted skin and sharp, yellowed teeth, they mulled around, a bore with massive tusks cooking over their bonfire. They looked on edge, a couple patrolling the perimeter of their camp. One was groaning on the ground, and snapped at anyone who got too close as he tended to a wounded leg, while another still had an arrow in its shoulder as it glared murderously into the flames with its beady eyes.
	She needed to avert their attention from the forest so she could pass unnoticed. Slowly, she released her staff and raised her freed hand toward their fire.
	The flames flared up, making the hide of the boar catch fire and sending the Orc with a wounded shoulder scrambling backward with a screech. At Rayadell’s silent command, the flames stretched out from the hearth, the rutilant sparks turning into a fierce white as they fell to the Elagon’s will, spreading out in a line and cutting the camp in half. In the blink of an eye, the flames started to circle around them, and every Orc save for the one with a useless leg, set to trying to put out the flames.
	Taking advantage of their distraction, she muttered a quick spell, turning her body into a mere ghost of herself, and she hurried through the forest, unnoticed, toward the final stretch between her and Caldavail, the flames extinguishing themselves and leaving only the faintest of scorch marks on the forest floor once she was well out of sight.

[center]*	*	*[/center]
	The small village was nestled snugly amidst the spring green of the forest. Significantly smaller than the town she had left behind, wide dirt roads wove through the buildings. Protected only by those living in the houses on the outskirts of the village, it was teeming with life as people went about their daily evening chores.
	As Rayadell, an air of weariness still lurking about her from both her travel and use of magic, entered the village, a couple curious heads turned toward her, a stranger amidst the familiar. But it was only one figure that caught her attention; the man she had seen in the inn’s tavern the previous day leaned against one of the buildings. The bottom half of his face was just visible in the sunlight from beneath his hood, showing a slightly pointed chin and full lips.
	She sauntered toward him, her gaze wary as he lifted his head toward her.
	“You’re the messenger, I presume?” she asked as she neared, keeping a safe distance between them.
	The man’s lips pulled up in a smirk. 
	“You presume correctly, Rayadell Farrodane,” he answered in a thick, oily voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind.” He pushed from the wall and collected the bow leaning against the building beside him. “The Carishes are waiting.” He gestured down the road with a nod, rested a part of his longbow lazily on one shoulder, then headed down the road without checking to be sure she was behind him. 
	Rayadell hesitated, but followed him. She had come this far, after all, so there was no point in stopping now.
	“Have you a name?” she asked as they made their way to the opposite end of the village, many heads turning their way to get a look at the cloaked newcomer.
	“Hasn’t everyone?” A smirk was audible in his voice.
	Rayadell scowled. “What’s yours, then?”
	“You can call me Salven, if you feel so inclined to do so.”
	Her brows raised. “Tell me, Salven. What can you tell me about ‘Mr. and Mrs. Carish’?
	“They’re a nice enough couple,” he said with a shrug, “in need of some assistance.”
	Her eyes narrowed. “And you’re someone else assisting with the... [i]retrieval[/i]?”
	Salven laughed. “Nope. That’s [i]your[/i] job. If you accept, anyway.”
	Salven led her to a quaint farmhouse at the edge of the village. Animals mulled about the fenced property, a couple escaped chickens strutting around the front yard. 
	“Here you are.” He gestured laconically to the farmhouse with a wave of his free hand. “Knock, then just go on in. They’re expecting you.” With that, he continued through the property, offering her only a quick wave in farewell without turning around.
	Rayadell went up to the simple, wooden door. She stood there a moment, looking around the farm, searching for any sign it was a trap. She lifted her empty hand and glanced to the gem-studded golden bangle hanging there. Enchanted to warn her of any spells against dragons or other lizard-folk, it gave no indication of such trickery.
	Taking a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest at the prospect of being so close to abolishing her curse, she knocked, then entered the small, quaint home.
	“Hello?” she called as she opened the door to a small living area furnished with crude, hand-made chairs and cabinets, not quite daring to let the door close behind her quite yet, her grip on her staff tightening as she waited for a response.