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There was a thump as Bechina Hallehaukar's [i]Fugue Dance[/i], a seminal work on the historical applications of mental curses, was gently closed. With a sigh and a regretful look, Entyrea Imbryss slid an elaborately-embroidered bookmark between the pages and carefully wrapped it in oilskin before sliding it back into her knapsack. Shivering a bit in the cold, she sat up straighter, shaking her red silk dress and creamy white cloak out to settle them more comfortably over her narrow frame.

She peered past Gudrik, craning her neck to scan the grand stronghold of Auonar. A small smile played over her face as she watched it draw closer. She'd never been to the far north; and while yes, it was a bit unpleasant out--she shivered briefly again--this was a rare opportunity to study the writings of a totally different culture. Besides, she smiled to herself, the cold had never been able to stick to her anyway. If things went [i]really[/i] sideways, she could probably conjure enough fire to keep them warm.

"[color=#C82222]I must agree with--[/color]" she paused for a moment, searching her mind for the name that she'd learned in their very brief introductions some time ago, "[color=#C82222]--Chip, yes?[/color]" When she spoke, it carried not only the accent, but also the refined diction of a member of the nobility. As she spoke, she grasped the wood-and-opal staff that leaned on the seat against her, leaning thoughtfully against it as she spoke again. "[color=#C82222]If this was just a simple matter of the caravan never leaving Auonar somehow, then I get the feeling--perhaps the sinking feeling, in particular--that Enthys wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of contacting us.[/color]"

"[color=#C82222]Still,[/color]" she continued, "[color=#C82222]at the very least, we may be able to find some kind of clue as to what direction the caravan went if we ask around. Knowledge is power, yes?[/color]"