Eodras's hunt was successful. Bagging several more squirrels, before a woman appeared in the forest. A tall woman, with hair of a ravens wing appeared before him. A farmer's wife most likely. She ushered him back, warning that he would do best not to hunt so deep and a storm was coming fast. Her voice littered with accents the young Man could not place. For never had he nor any of his heard such a accent, or words spoke as though from a hundred years earlier. But the way the woman said it, the way she ushered him back... The young man could not refuse. Most likely he had been hunting on her land and she needed the game more herself, and if a farmer's wife, a large family that would need every morsel they could get.

It was hours later, from when Eodras met the farmer's wife, that Giles looked at the encroaching clouds, wiping his furrowed brow and readjusting the cap he always wore. It was growing late, and progress was steady. All things good to combat a coming storm. But still the trader had been at this business of trading for quite a while, and he just couldn't shake the sense something was horribly wrong. Directing the wagons and families into a roadside clearing, the caravan made the customary circle of wagons, albeit a half circle to shelter in the lean of the forest. The storm was promising to be rather rotten, so any added protection against the rain and wind would be welcomed to both man (dwarf and elf included) and beast. Unhooking his study shire horse (Not a horse from the Shire, to note) the caravan master tethered them to the back of the wagon and bustled about. There were other wagons to check, horses and the rare oxen to settle. Using one plump hand to keep the slipping cap upon his head, he cursed the splatters of rain that started to fall.

But he did find the man he sought. Shortly before they came into the camp, Darcyn had returned with a plump deer. The mercenary group was rather pleased as they pitched tents and got about with the evening activities. Including leering at the local ladies and making crude jokes between themselves. The rest of the camp made large circles about their fire if they needed to pass, but a few felt the need to draw near as Master Wigby argued with the group about the guard stationing. Many of the group stated there was no need, nothing would move in this storm. But the argument was shorted as Darcyn was giving a small keg. Not enough to inebriate them, but to give them something for their 'troubles'. The rotten man was grinning far too boldly as Giles hurried off to separate a group of bickering families. Space was a something of a commodity with the coming storm, so the better the shelter the more it was fought for. Darcyn took full advantage as the mercenary group egged on the problems and laughed among themselves. "Look's like we'll get [i]some fun[/i] tonight, lads!" The man laughed loudly as their fire roared.

Lathranien took to the woods far before they reached the clearing, not so much hunting as simply escaping from the ruckus of the caravan. She much enjoyed the quietness of the woods to the noise of city or men. Reaching the caravan shortly after the rain had picked up and most fires had died. Families enjoying a cold meal rather than deal with the pouring rain. Leaning against a tree she observed the set up. Families had taken to the wagons they owned, outsiders tossed out to fend for themselves as they would be sleeping in there. Space would be needed. Darcyn's band of 'gentlemen' had taken to their tents. The newer members forced to stand in the rain, most likely some foolish way to man them a better 'man'. Lathranien had seen it from time to time amongst the decades. Other tents were set between the trees, other travelers. Some had light, others had none. The rain had drenched her slightly, it wasn't overly bad and would dry out by morning. Shelter would be needed to keep her from staying drench long after morning. The elfling gave a slight smirk as she slinked from the forest's edge towards the wagons. Elvish grace in a nervous step, moving like a ghost amongst the night. It was a amusement for her to move so, but it was not reasonable for a mortal boy. So moving as she was meant to was rare. Making her way towards the wagon, she pulled the cloak tight about her. It would be tight but she wouldn't be seen, nor be too terribly wet. If luck was with her they would have a brazier- though such things were rare.

None noticed the too glad smile from Darcyn, as he sat in his warm tent and boasted of the Orcs he slain. Or the missing lad that wandered off now and again. Night had fallen and the caravan was settling in to wait out the storm.

[@Pirouette] [@josephb] [@13org] [@Daft Monarch] [@Andreyich]