Camilla blinked the frozen slush out of her eyes. Black sludge was smeared over half her face from the disintergration of her mascara. This wa her third winter in the Empire. The first having been spent comfortabley by the fire of the son of the Elector of Ostland, the second slogging her way through the forests of Middenland. This was certainly the coldest and most miserable one so far. At times she wished for the warm sun of Tilea, where winters grip manifested as little more than a chill evening and a morning fog. In Tilea though what would she be? A courtesan? A mercenary? Neither occupation was enticing, the first because of Cydric, the second because of the nature of her southern homeland. At least in the Empire she found herself fighting forces she might consider evil, rather than participating in an endless round of fueds between petty aristocrats.

"We have to keep moving," Camilla encouraged. According to the story the trees were least active at night. Well maybe active was the wrong word, less agressive. There was a churn to snow that suggested a great many things had moved here in the last few hours. None of the trees around them seemed to be moving now though Camilla had that uncomfortable feeling that they were waiting till she looked away before moving a few fractions of an inch. She brushed her hand against the haft of one of her axes.

"How far away is this glade supposed to be?" Cydric asked, stepping up over a dead branch and ducking to avoid bumping his head on a tree limb.

"A day's march," Camilla supplied. Thor grunted.

"Not very exact," the dwarf grunted.

"It's half folk tale, half amatuer history, what do you want?" Camilla put in, a trifle sourly, brushing more sleet from her brow. The directions were rudimentary and everything in a folk tale was a days journey away.

"The cursed glade is about twenty miles south south east of Kadrin's peak might be nice," Gunnir put in sarcastically.

"Life is filled with dissapointment master dwarf," Camilla replied tartly.

As it turned out 'a days march' was a little opptimistic. Either the days were longer back then, or the hero wasn't trying to do it at night in a mobile forest in the middle of an icestorm. They were still nowhere near the glade when the sky began to lighten in the east. Camilla let out a sigh.

"We can't be out here when the trees get all murdery," she pointed out.

"Stonegrip's mine," Thor suggested. Camilla blinked, imagining this to be some kind of curse she hadn't yet encountered.

"Aye, I've beena thinkin' that too," Gunnir put in. 

"Care to fill us in?" Camilla asked, leaning wearily against a tree. It made an odd sound and she pulled herself away in a hurry.

"Dwayla Stonegrip was touched by the moon," Thor told them, "He had this whole crackpot theory about establish new holds within the Empire itself, small ones in... hills," Thor explained, making the word 'hill' sound like 'dung'.

"He established a small hold, here abouts, perhaps two hundred years ago. No one has heard from it in nearly a century, but I bet the tunnels are still there, we could hole up till nightfall."