(Holden d’Alnharte (Main), In the Eastern Woods of Praelium, Nearing Paline)

Holden’s boots sank into the mud, making each step more difficult than the last. Rain seeped through his hood, introducing the frigid cold to his body. He looked about for some means of shelter. It was a miracle that he made it this far with the worsening conditions. The unkempt ground he walked upon was becoming a marsh, trying to suck him further into the earth.

The road drowned underneath the murky waters; leaving him with little more than his training and instincts for guidance. He used the lower branches of the trees to keep himself from sinking; a slow and agonizing death. If he had to decide, he would rather go quickly by the skilled practice of the predators that lurked in the woods. 

He gripped Yusil’s hilt tightly as a dry screech resounded through the trees. Muttering a curse under his breath, he picked up his pace. It was still a day’s worth of travel before he would reach Paline, and even then his efforts could be in vain. He frowned. If things did not go the way he hoped, what would he do, then? Hijack a boat? Flee to Benaduza?

“Maybe it would be easier if I just become a hermit.” Shaking his head with a smirk, he pushed on. They would have to listen to him. To ignore his warning would be nothing less than nodding to the death in unfathomable quantities. 

Suddenly, Holden dropped into the murky waters; pain flaring through his leg. It was nothing that alarmed him; the wound was a week old, already. He pulled himself up and leaned against the trunk of a tree to ease the weight on his knee. The bandage would have to be replaced, or he risked it growing infected. Drawing his knife, he carved off the dirty, blood-stained wrappings before he took the blade to his cloak. With a careful motion, he parted a long, thin strip free, and dressed the gash that ran through where his pants were torn open.

It was a reminder for him, that he was but a mortal man. His experience did little to dull the bite of a blade. Once the pain subsided, he continued through the woods. With the occasional screech – sometimes sounding closer, other time very distant – he felt naked without a bow in his hands.  

(Holden d’Alnharte is alone, traveling through Praelian forests in a heavy storm to reach the capital Paline. He is about a day's distance away.)