Emmeline walked. It felt great, to be stretching her legs, out on the open road again with the sun in the sky and the promise of adventure ahead. For the fest hour or two anyway. Then she realized just how out of condition she was. Not to say she was unfit, after all she’d kept up a physical regime even while nursing her sick mother and the empty months that followed it. But endurance isn’t something you can keep up inside city limits, not really. The sun baked down,  and the dust from the road made her throat drier than a desert. Her feet ached, her calves cramped, and her pack weighed her down and backward, her centre of weight off balance from usual. She was sore, and bored, and the boredom only served to aid her in focusing on how tired and sore she felt. 

She pushed through though, and it did become easier, her body starting to remember after all this time what being on the march felt like. She also remembered the ways she used to pass time whilst a Knight. Admittedly most of that time was also mounted, and she definitely preferred riding to walking. It was also mostly passed in conversations with her fellow Knights, sometimes story telling, sometimes banter, sometimes someone would start singing a song and they’d all join in. She did try singing but all that did was remind her how unconditioned she was, and how dry her throat was – even with frequent sips from her water pouch. She settled instead from recalling the stories her mother used to tell them as children, remaining their endings into something more fantastical. She made up some time walking into the evening, knowing that she only had to settle down for herself, with a small dinner of dried foods. Sleep and repeat.

The sign for the crossroads came into view just about on time. The first say had been the worst for sure, but she’d since found a rhythm. Taking a moment before continuing ip on the caravan she brushed down her navy tunic, and polished her black boots on the backs of her legs. She touched the hilt of her sword, it’s scabbard of brown suede banded in brass, holding its shining silvery blade. The cross guard was solid and brass coloured with engraved flowers, a brown suede grip, and rounded pommel again in the same brass colour and shaped to look like a flower also. She tucked some of her black hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear and heated her pack higher on her shoulders. 

As she got closer she scanned the caravan she was approaching, and scowled. Red cloth embroidered in gold meant two things. First she was in for a good payday at the end, and secondly she was going to hate every moment of getting there. This wasn’t a happy merchant looking for protection but some upper class twit that thought nothing about the lives of those who kept them in luxury. The warriors were also... odd. Why hire two sells words when you travel with a militia that looks as impressive as that? Whatever the reason it was a job, it was a paycheck, and it was he first step towards freedom. What she didn’t see yet as she scanned around was someone else who didn’t fit, this mysterious partner. Regardless she strode up to the rider at the beginning of the column, assuming that the lead warrior would be the best person to talk to. 
“Hello there, I’m Emmeline. I’m lead to believe you are expecting me and one other to, um, assist in guarding this caravan?”
The warrior looked down from his chestnut mount, the sunlight glinting off his chain mail and helmet, and she saw the red cloak he was wearing had a sunburst embroidered on it. The insignia tickled her brain, but heraldry had never been her strongest suit. The guys face was impassive, but at least he wasn’t openly derisive of her. “Aye, we are expecting two sellswords.” His face might not have shown derision but his tone certainly did, with the way he twisted the word sellswords. Clearly he didn’t think much of them being hired either. “Wait here for the other one. I only want to disturb m’lord once on your account.” He gestured off to the side slightly and turned away, dismissing her as a nuisance had no longer had to deal with. She moved away slightly, clamping down on a childish desire to stick her  tongue out at him, or flip him off, and found a spot in a shadow to stand in while she waited for her counterpart. She didn’t figure they’d be far off.