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[center]The Forgotten Ruins[/center]
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Sun glazed over the width of a head tilted sideways and resting on a coalition of sticks, a head whose hazel orbs were trapped behind closed lids. Many days ago when the skies rang with light--the guiding light of Imare, she was sure--the Bright One of the I'wali set off, the stars and rise of the sun and its position her sole aid. She'd stayed away from the main roads to avoid the trife of banditry and peddlers. In the green, she kept good time and was able to better cover her tracks with every mile made. 

It had been close to a week before she arrived at the Forgotten Ruins. After she had, she'd made no provisions for herself except sleep. Sleep clipped by the gathering and bartering as people began to wake and exorcise themselves from makeshift encampments. There was smoke and steam all too familiar: bread, soup, ale. It all invaded her senses and she shot up. Everything was so distinct that it was unintelligible. Many feet shuffled, but then there was a change, a clicking. It sounded like hooves. A beast was a companion, indeed; hopefully the owner was of good temperament. Atua was sure she would find out soon enough. It was but a moment before once more the voices and stenches and merriment coalesced.

All interest pointed toward the ruined city, and what time was there to waste? There would be less raucous once inside; she made pace and observed one of several gates obstructing entrance. Such constraint always made her suspicious, far as she could tell there were no guards, either. Hmmmmm! She slung the quiver around her back and tightened the grip on her bow. She bowed her head and supplicated,

[i]”Himwari i hiril aba.”[/i]

Then she stood staring at one of the cracks in the ruined walls. Could she fit? She angled herself in the best way she thought would allow her to pass through one of the larger partitions in the wall and tried to slither her way through.