Horace walked lightly through the streets of Cowfallow. The mud under his makeshift boots, made a soft squishing sound, it was loud, but not loud enough to alert the Orcs of his presence. He was growing tired, as he already had a day of work in the hot sun. He soon started to walked sloppily, and he could barely hold himself up.
His boots flopped in the mud, as he walked through the door of his burned down home. He looked around, finding no traces of blood in his house, but, who knows, it could have gotten burnt up.
He went down to the cellar where there were some remnants of his Alchemy Sets. Tear gas, coughing gas, flame powder. All of this would come in handy. All of this, he put in phials, and attached then to his arrows. The vials were glass, and would break on impact when shot next to the Orcs, or, on their armor. He put his arrows in his quiver, and bow on his back, as he put together a small backpack of items. Alchemy Books, phials in a case, Alchemy materials, and the remainder of food. He could stay here, so he might as well be ready for a trek.