After sage advice to Thomas, Ifor confronted the injured Varric -- then offered a chance at peace.

Golde thanked Temp for her diligence, then proceeded to administer to Ifor's and Varric's wounds.

Thomas, recovering from shock, offered a plan for their continued survival.

Elliot moved quietly away to investigate the source of the yellow light -- but was interrupted a second time by Temp's sharp logic.

Ifor suggested weapons and quick movement toward the light in the distance.

[right][img]https://i.imgur.com/8ZVoSBE.png[/img][/right]

With the bleeding, nonsensical Varric limply in tow, the saltsoaked troupe made their slow way along the sand; a gentle rise of rocks on their left, the breathing and moonlit sea to the right.

The chilled breeze struck their wet skin. Stars shimmered overhead. The sand became littered with old seaweed and bits of rock, empty seashells and the occasional jellyfish.

Eventually, after they passed an outcropping of stone, the yellow light came into better view.

Ahead of them, a bright yellow obelisk floated over the stones that extended into the waves; its yellow light illuminated the froth and spray, the glimmering wetness of the smoothed stones. The obelisk itself was as tall as a lamppost, tapered at its base and chiseled at the top. It glowed consistently and steadily while the quickening ocean winds struck waves against the rocks.

A huge winged shadow dove and splashed in the surface of the roiling water, then flapped into the sky again.

In the blue light of the moon, the visitors might interpret the silhouette as that of an enormous, ox-sized eagle that turned in the air and soared back the way it had come, a fish grasped in its dangerous talons -- only this creature had the fur and hind legs of a lion tucked beneath a tufted tail.

The griffin flapped its impressive wings and stretched out all four feet, landing atop a huge, straight-faced boulder that stood sentinel in the water within the light of the yellow obelisk. There was another griffin laying there, its feathers furrowing in the wind -- and next to it, a bright campfire.

From the shoreline, looking out toward the boulder in the sea, there was little detail to be made out -- but the two small silhouettes that moved between the griffins were undoubtedly human, and undoubtedly children. They wore furs and leathers, but little else could be discerned.

The first griffin, having deposited its captured prey at the campfire, flapped and bobbed and turned at the edge of the boulder. It spread its wings and launched into the wind again for another hunt -- headed this time very close to the shore where the castaways walked.

There was a good shadow near the rocky incline beside the shore, and the troupe had not yet been spotted. The rocks beside them would offer somewhere to hide, or could quickly be climbed to the mossy, mushroomed field above. Should they continue forward, the sea-littered sand ahead stretched past the shadows and into the light of the yellow obelisk, where certainly they would catch the attention of the children and their beasts.

[h3][i]Meanwhile...[/i][/h3]
In the glow of the lantern light, Izzy laughed ... and cried.

Dogs barked again, then quieted with wagging tails. A group of men at a campfire laughed together. A flute twirled a light melody on the cool wind. The waves of wheat rustled gently.

The lantern's gentle pulse of light synchronized with Izzy's sobbing breath, and almost seemed to breathe with her. She might notice a tingling sensation in her throat and lungs -- a radiating warmth that wasn't unpleasant, drawn in with each breath and each brightening of the light.

Out of the wheat field, through the gate of the stone fence, walked a woman in a long soiled dress; she wore thick gloves, dark-tinted goggles and a wide-brimmed hat over straw-blond hair, and she hunched under the weight of a basket full of grain.

She straightened a little, breathing a bit heavily from a day's work in the field, and she pushed her goggles up onto her forehead to see Izzy clearer; her pale brown eyes were full of concern. She shifted the basket on her back, and for a quiet moment she considered whether to involve herself in these troubles. She looked back at the lantern atop the pillar, squinting in confusion at the odd pulsing of the light, before she returned her attention to the crying stranger.

[color=burlywood]"You all right then, dear?"[/color] she asked in a lilting, gentle voice. [color=burlywood]"You'll catch cold, swimmin' in yer clothes like that."[/color] She tried a hesitant smile, and again was quiet while she shifted her weight, considering her next decision.

[color=burlywood]"Strangers aren't too common in Woondaly. Yer lost, I kin tell. You got somewhere to go?"[/color] She tilted her head, and she extended a hand for Izzy to take. [color=burlywood]"My name is North. I'm just on m' way to the windmill to drop some grain, then I'll be headin' home to my boys. Please, come with me. We'll get you warm and dry and fed -- if ya don't mind close quarters with the goats."[/color] She laughed a little, hoping to raise the visitor's spirits.