Camilla blew out an irritable breath, blowing a stray lock of her raven hair clear of her face as she grabbed the young Seargent arm and clambered from the treeline into the pale afternoon sun. Her feet hurt abominably, twigs and bits of branches from the forest were tangled in her hair and she didn't even want to think about what she smelled like. Cydric himself smelled like a cross between an iron works and an slaughter house, the aftermath of the skirmish with goblins still fragrant.

A few days ago they had been at the court in Wurzen, living in relative luxury, she had been a 'companion' of the counts son Otto, an ornament to the court. Now Otto's was the Count and he was in no doubt about who had murdered his father. In her heart of hearts Camilla wondered if he had murdered the old man so he could inherit and was now going through the charade of being outraged. Such things were common in Tilea, but she didn't think it was the style here in the Empire.

[b]"We... we can climb those?"[/b] she asked incredulously, turning her eyes up to the enormity of the mountains. White snow glistened on the tops of peaks which seemed to scrape the sky. She pulled her improvised cloak around her body. She had been forced to flee in clothing that... well it wouldn't have been suitable even in private for most people. She had supplied the lack with trousers, far too big, and a shirt which she kept belted around her waist with a strip of her previous silken garment. Both items were on loan from Cydric. Completing the ensemble was a horse blanket that they had found in a saddlebag, before they had been forced to abandon their horses to escape Otto's men. The heavy wollen material was fastened around her neck with a repurposed silver chain, another part of her oh so alluring outfit.

It was a genuine question, not a sarcastic rebuke, she had thought that Cydric was insane to suggest going through the forest on foot and had told him so in no uncertain, and not particularly flattering terms. None the less he had been correct, it had been nearly a day since they heard any sound of pursuit from the Ostlanders. A crude horn sounded somewhere far off, not an Imperial instrument, something cruder, perhaps more of the greenskins, or the animal mutants Otto had so frequently boasted of slaying. Camilla hoped that they hadn't traded one set of hunters for another.

[b]"The..."[/b] she struggled for the word, [b]"Weather, it does not look good,"[/b] her accent made it sound more like 'Wee ther'. She cast a glance back at the forbidding forest. A second blast of the horn sounded and she couldn't tell if it was closer or further away. It didn't look like there would be much choice.