(The adventure begins!) Winter was harsh so close to the mountains. Snow fell in crisp, white layers across the landscape, blanketing the expanses that months earlier had been covered with crops ready for the autumn harvest. The amber fields of late summer and autumn had since passed. Now, the hills were only glittering white. From his chamber window, Edric could see the thin, grey wisps of smoke rising from the chimneys of the commonfolk beyond Northrock's walls. He pictured families of villagers huddled around meager fires in their hearths, and thanked the gods for the thick, stone walls shielding him from the frigid winds of the northern winter. Even behind these walls, winter's chill nipped at him as he hastily donned his garb of wool and leather. His boots rapped against the stone floor of Northrock's halls on the way to his father's great hall, ever followed by the rapid footfalls of a particularly, colossal wolf. He took a seat at the long, oaken table as servants tended to the blazing hearths. The young man broke his fast with honey dripped over warm, oat bread with cheese and salted ham, washed down with a mug of dark ale. Finishing the last of his meal and swallowing the last gulp of ale, he stood and walked toward the kitchens to have rations for his travels be gathered from waybreads, cheeses, and smoke-dried meats from Northrock's storehouses. Before leaving, he took an extra helping of ham to share with Winter. Edric's lord father awaited him atop Northrock's southern gatehouse, admiring the beauty of the landscape, with its tall trees loaded with fluffy, white snow. Edric admired its beauty, too, as he mounted the parapets by way of ice-slicked, granite stairs. The top of the wall, while mostly swept clear by the constant patrolling of Mael Coluim's household guard, retained a thin, compact layer of snow which crunched with each of Edric's steps. "This landscape has been my home since I was a small child. These snows are as much a part of home as anything." Lord Snow did not bother looking away from the view. He knew the sound of his son's footfalls by that of the canine trotting close behind. "It surely is beautiful," Edric agreed. "It's your home, too, Edric. They call you an illegitimate son, but by the god's you're still my boy!" His father turned to face him, now, and Edric could muster no words in response. He merely nodded in acknowledgement. "Whatever you do, and wherever you go, always remember that. Bastard or no, you're my son. You're still a Snow, and the halls of the House of Snow will always be your home, no less than they are mine. Whatever happens, never forget who and what you are," Mael Coluim commanded softly, placing a hand on his eldest son's shoulder. "Yes, sir. I will remember. I will ever serve the honor of House Snow." "I didn't say that," Lord Snow urged, "You know what honor means. I know this. I'm not concerned with the honor of the house. At least, not at present. I only want you to remember that you need never feel that House Snow will abandon you. You have made your choice to go south, and I won't think to stop you. However, you're still a Snow, and my gates will ever be open to my firstborn." Edric smiled. "I understand. Thank you, father." "Before you go, I've had a horse prepared for you in the stables, and Gregor says your sword is polished and honed for you." "Father, are you sure that blade should not go Æthelred? I may be a Snow, but he is your rightful heir." "Aye, and you're my firstborn!" Lord Snow dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand, "Your brother will have the whole of Northrock's estates when I die. I can only hope that lad has forgotten his bold temperament when the time does come. A reckless landowner will do the Northrock little good. "In any case, the sword is yours and I'll hear no more about the matter. Ganon take me if I let my eldest son leave home to serve the realm without a piece of his family by his side. Now, go, I'm sure Micah is waiting for you to take that horse off his hands. You'll find your mail packed and loaded. I figured I would save you the trouble of stowing your armor." The older man held his beloved son in a tight embrace, releasing him only reluctantly. "Farewell, my boy. I pray the gods bless you with good health along your way." "Goodbye, father, and thank you." "I will miss you dearly, Edric." "And I you, father." Lord Snow gave Winter a scratch on the back of the neck and sent his son on his way. Edric descended the stairs from Northrock's battlements, ever followed by his titanic wolf. Gregor, one of Northrock's few more prominent smiths, was already hard at work on new armor and spearheads for Mael Coluim's household guard. The man saw his lord's son approaching and immediately set aside his tools. Wiping sweat from his brow, he removed Edric's bastard sword from the hook on which its scabbard had been hung. "This here's all ready for ye, milord," Gregor said with a bow of his head, "Freshly polished and with the finest edge this side o' Death Mountain, it is." With that proud declaration, Gregor presented the blade to its new owner, who took it with a chuckle. "I wouldn't doubt it, Gregor. You have my thanks." Edric took the grip in his right hand, pulling the weapon free from its scabbard by several inches. Gregor had just recently finished shining the blade with an oiled cloth, and the steel gleamed in the winter sun. The metal was smooth to the touch, yet had a wavy, almost layered texture to its color. Cleanly stamped at the base of the blade was a maker's mark of Goron origin. Lord Snow had told him the name of the Goron smith who had crafted the fine weapon, but Edric has since forgotten. It was sad to think that this proud Goron craftsmen did not likely survive the ravages of Ganon's invasion years past. The shine of its mirror-like finish was snuffed out as Edric slid the weapon back into its sheath, making to buckle the scabbard onto his belt. "It's a beautiful blade, milord, if ye don't mind my saying so. I would be proud to be half so good as the hands who hammered that steel." "The Gorons are--were famed for their art of shaping steel. Even so, my friend, I know it to be a fact that my father swears by your handiwork. One does not find steel so fine as yours anywhere this far north of the Mountain." "Ye do me honor, milord," said Gregor with another bow. "Do me a favor while I'm away, Gregor. Keep hammering out steel, and make sure these guards can keep my father safe. We'll have to rely on them now that I'll be in the south." This time Gregor threw his head back and gave a laugh, "Aye, I will at that, milord." Edric gave the smith a pat on the shoulder before departing, adjusting the new scabbard on his belt. He crossed Northrock's bailey to find a horse saddled and waiting for him at the stables nearest the southern gate. Edric's horse was a nut-brown rouncey with a white patch on its nose and a dark, flowing mane. Edric's luggage and gear were stored in packs and slung over the rouncey's hind quarters, just behind the seat of the leather saddle. Included in this luggage was a sack containing a set of mail-and-leather barding for the horse should Edric require his horse for battle. The barding comprised a coat and champron of iron mail on leather backing, as well as a peytral and croupiere both of cuirboille. The young man stepped into the horse's stirrups, a pair of bronze, prick-type spurs on his heels. A thick, brown, woolen scarf sat about his face to hold back the biting winds of winter. His rations had been brought from the kitchens and loaded into his baggage for the journey. His heavy cloak pulled about his shoulders, and Winter close behind, Edric gave the rouncey a quick tap with his heels, bringing the animal to a slow walk forward through Northrock's main gate, which a pair of men-at-arms were pulling open for him. Edric watched the land of his youth crawl past as his horse sauntered through the village outside Northrock's walls. A few of the commonfolk peeked from their homes to see the young man riding by. With a constant clapping of hooves, the rouncey carried Edric farther and farther from home, until, before long, Edric could turn back to see Northrock Castle a small, grey shape outlined against the pristine, white hills.
Hooves clapped rhythmically against the frozen dirt track leading south from Northrock. From the ridge atop which this length of path ran, Edric could spot the fringes of the Lost Woods, reaching out from the horizon like a deep, green carpet sprinkled pure white. From there, the landscape was painted glittering ivory by a freshly fallen layer of snow, flakes still dancing lazily from the grey-blue skies. Winter galloped playfully through the snowdrifts, his pale, grey coat sprinkled with a film of white crystals. A trail of small, stab-like paw-prints led back along the road, hidden only by gusts of biting, frozen wind from the hills. Before long, the road began to meander eastward to briefly run along the westernmost edge of the grand forest. Clusters of trees and undergrowth began to straddle the rutted dirt, and Winter vanished into the walls of white and green, perhaps in pursuit of some imagined sound or smell. Smiling, Edric continued on. Winter often took off on his own small adventures. Sometimes, he would return with paws and snout stained crimson by the blood of some small creature, and sometimes by nothing more than mud. Edric had come to learn that the wolf was never too far away, and would always come sauntering back out of the forest. The road took a path along the forest through a sort of natural gulley in the nearest hill. To the right of the road was an earthen face roughly ten feet in height, with a hill rising slowly beyond. To the left of the road was a dense cluster of trees, leading up to the forest proper several dozen feet beyond. The terrain provided welcome relief from the periodic gusts of frigid winds from the west, which for hours beyond count had been staved off by nothing save Edric's thick, woolen cloak and scarf. By now, the sun was beginning to drift slowly toward the tops of the mountains in the west, casting the first hints of scarlet across the sky above the jagged horizon. In a few hours, Edric figured, he would stop and find a small outcropping along the side of the road in which to build a small fire, take supper, and wrap up in his cloak to rest. There was no use wasting daylight hours, though. Making camp would have to wait. Despite his long day's ride, he would continue onward for at least another few miles. It was at this point that Edric heard the sound of voices from up the road. A few moments later, the sound of a few, dull cracks echoed through the trees, followed by a frightened scream. Edric coaxed his rouncey to a gallop until the sounds of anxious chattering and shouting grew louder, at which point he gave a firm yank on the horse's mail-covered reins, bringing the creature to a halt. Keeping his eyes open, he quickly dismounted and led the horse to the earthen face off the right side of the road, tying the reins to a bit of exposed tree root. There was another scream, then, followed by a gravely voice. "Oi! Keep it down, you bitch!" Edric continued from this point on foot, moving briskly over the hardened mud and dirt. "Ain't no one for miles, 'round these parts. She can scream all she likes. Ain't gonna stop me from takin' what I like." "I'd like a bit o' her," a third voice chimed in. "Don't you touch her!" "You keep your mouth shut!" Edric's hand drifted to rest on Storm's grip as he stepped further down the road. The small rise to the side of the road dipped outward to obstruct his vision, but afforded him a place to conceal himself while he took stock of the situation. Peeking around the bend, he saw a small, wooden cart pulled by a small, black horse. The cart was driven to the side of the road, facing north, and had had its axle chopped through by the right wheel, some contents of the cart spilling off of the road as a result. The cart was driven by an older, ragged-looking man and a beautiful, young woman with a slender build and long, auburn hair. She wore a frayed, light dress with a brown shawl and furs thrown over her shoulders for warmth in the harsh winter. Four men in furs and leather, and clad in shirts of rusted, iron mail surrounded the cart, one man brandishing a wood-cutter's ax, another a simple mace with a heavy, iron head, and a third carrying a short falchion of worn, tarnished steel. The fourth wore a leather cap and held ready an arming sword with a chipped blade. "Last time, wretch," the man with the arming sword declared angrily, "give us the girl and the cart! You just fuck off! I don't care where you go!" "Ganon take you all!" the man on the cart protested, holding tightly to his companion as the highwaymen moved to remove her forcibly. He had a wood ax of his own, but what good could it do in these circumstances? Edric stepped out from hiding and began approaching the scene. Storm slid smoothly from its scabbard with the sound of steel scraping leather, its blade singing softly into the crisp air. "Release them," Edric interjected, "and I will let you live!" The men turned to see the young man approaching. "I told you I heard a horse!" urged one of the men. Another merely gave a sharp, angry hiss, silencing him. "And who are you, then, eh? Some squire too far from home? This ain't where you're supposed to be, lad. Go back to your warm, little castle before I gut you," the sword-armed brigand commanded. "I am not 'some squire.' I am Edric, son of Mael Coluim of Northrock, and if you do not leave them be, then I promise you, it will not be I who is gutted." The brigands seemed familiar with the name. "Oh? Ho ho ho! Malcolm's bastard, eh? Well, whoreson, you'd best be running home, now. Northrock is quite a ways away!" That struck a nerve with Edric. He cocked his head, angrily, and took Storm in a two-handed grip. "Call me whoreson again and I swear by the Three I will rip your tongue from your head." "My, if that isn't some fine steel, whoreson," the leather-capped brigand commented, "I might just want that for myself, if you don't mind." He waved a silent command to his companions. The club and falchion-wielding bandits turned from the cart and charged the young man, roaring. Edric firmed his stance and raised his guard, rising onto the balls of his feet as the two came bumbling angrily toward him at a ferocious pace.
The first blow came from the iron-tipped club. Crafted from a thick, wooden handle with a mass of black iron fitted to its tip in the manner of an ax-head, the club was heavy and poorly balanced. The brigand struck from on high, the cumbersome tool tracing an arc to smash Edric's skull. Storm rose swiftly to meet the blow, catching the wooden haft of the weapon on its flat. Edric shifted his footing, passing back and sweeping the blow to the side, his opponent's momentum carrying him forward. Edric had mere seconds before the second man would be upon him as well. His left hand darted out, grasping the club's handle and preventing the man from readying another swing. His sword hand free, Edric lashed out and struck the man on the bridge of his nose, Storm's hilt leaving a deep, bloody welt across his face. His foe staggered, Edric braced his footing and pushed the man backward toward his companion. The bandit cried out as he tripped over his own feet, tumbling backward into the falchion-armed highwayman. Both scrambled to regain their footing as Edric backed off to ready for another assault. The club-wielding bandit rushed forth once more, making a wild, horizontal swing from left to right. Edric passed back, letting the cumbersome blow miss him entirely before darting forward. The brigand struck again in a panic, but Edric caught the haft of his club with a close left guard. Well inside the reach of the man's weapon, Edric slid his sword forward, turning it flat to press its edge hard hard into his opponent's arm before drawing it swiftly back. The red-haired girl on the cart gasped in shock at the sight of Edric slicing deep into the man's upper arm. The bandit howled in agony, feeling steel scrape against bone. Edric shoved the man back and turned to face the second brigand charging him. The tip of the brigand's falchion sliced a shallow, bloody line across Edric's cheek as the young swordsman had barely a moment to withdraw. Edric winced and parried a follow-up strike, before a the trees themselves seemed to interject. Winter let out a gravely bark, pouncing from the treeline. The wolf bolted toward the nearest bandit, bowling him over onto his back and sending his falchion tumbling into the frozen dirt. 80 furious kilograms of fur and muscle pinned the luckless man in the mud as the wolf's ferocious jaws closed over his throat. A blood-curdling scream turned to a hideous gurgle while the bandit thrashed about helplessly, drowning in his own blood. "By the gods! A monster!" the man atop the cart exclaimed as his daughter gave a terrified cry. Winter wheeled about and placed himself between the three surviving brigands and his master, his lips curling back to bare enormous, deadly teeth while a growl bubbled up from the depths of his throat. The wounded bandit recoiled in terror at the sight of the enormous animal before him. "Farore forgive me! Them stories was true! It's his bloody wolf!" "This your pup, whoreson?" the leather-capped bandit asked incredulously. "So I expect you've heard rumors, then, of the bastard of Northrock raising a wolf for a pet. Good enough. You can affirm these tales when you return to your brothers in the forest," Edric answered, wiping blood from his face with a trembling hand. "Not on your life, ye little shit!" the capped brigand spat back, refusing to be intimidated by some worthless lordling, "There ain't nothing you or your bloody pup can do to make me go back in them woods, not with what we seen in the night!" "Last warning before I set my 'pup' on you, wretch," Edric called back, noting the bandit's rather intriguing response, "leave them be, and I will let you live. Go back where you came from!" "Don't listen good, eh? Right, then, kill 'em!" The maimed bandit stumbled back, clutching at his shoulder while a torrent of deep, red blood surged down his arm. The man with the leather cap growled angrily, shoving the useless man aside. The fourth brigand dropped his ax rather than fight and took off into the trees, followed by his injured comrade. Abandoned, the bandit swordsman thought again, taking off behind the other two, cursing the young man and his wolf. Winter growled and made ready to pursue, but Edric dissuaded him with a sharp, commanding whistle. The wolf obeyed, almost reluctantly, and kept watch on the treeline with erect ears. Edric produced a rag to wipe down the blade of his sword before sliding it back into its scabbard. The young man turned to the broken cart and the two Hylians huddled atop it. "Did they hurt you?" "No, thank the gods. I-- Thank you, milord," answered the man, holding his daughter close. Her face had gone pale, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Edric stepped forward and offered a hand. Trembling, she took his hand and stepped awkwardly off of the cart. "Are you all right, my lady?" She responded with a silent nod, glancing nervously at Winter. "No need to worry about him, my lady. He's quite gentle with those he likes."
Edric unfastened his cloak and placed it around the girl's shoulders, atop the fur mantle she already wore. "It's cold, milord. I can manage with what I have," the girl responded, thankfully, making to return the cloak. Edric insisted she keep it. "Nonsense. A man of house Snow does not fear the cold," he chuckled, "In any case, I've seen worse winters, my lady. I'll be fine." Edric turned to see the girl's father dismount the cart behind them. Cursing his lapse in etiquette, he lunged to offer a helping hand, but was turned down. "Very kind, milord, but I can manage," the man responded, "You've done more than your share for us as is, I'll reckon. If you hadn't turned up... I wish I could repay you for what you've done for us, milord, but I'm afraid all of my humble wares could hardly compare to what you have in your castle, I'm sure." Edric gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "There is no need, my friend." "I owe you my life, milord, not to mention my daughter's! Surely, there must be something--" "You may repay me by living well, sir. If I have granted you your life, then I pray you enjoy it." The man did not quite know how to respond. It was hardly normal for a member of the commons to be called "sir" by one of his betters. His daughter, beginning to calm, spoke in his stead. "If you don't mind my asking, milord, what sees the son of a noble lord traveling these roads without company? Are you truly a son of Northrock?" You will always be my son. "I am, my lady. I have left home for a time in hopes that I might find some noble cause to which I might pledge myself. My father dedicated his life to defending Hyrule from the forces of Ganon. As his bastard, I cannot inherit his titles, and so there is little I can do for the realm from those northern halls. I ride for Lon Lon, at present. "What sees you on this road, my good man?" Edric asked, directing his attention to the man who had turned to inspect the remains of his cart. "As it happens, milord, my daughter and I departed Lon Lon just the other day. I am a potter, by trade. My name is Ringo, milord, and my daughter is Falon. Times have been hard, and I had hoped I might travel north to pedal my wares around your father's estates, as it happens. Since those brigands struck this wheel from my cart, though, I fear there is no hope of reaching Northrock." "Allow me to see you safely on this road, my friend. I fear I haven't the space to carry all of your wares, and it would do you little good for me to strand you in Northrock. I suggest you gather what food and supplies your horse can bear and I will see to it both you and Falon make it home alive. We'd best get moving soon, though. Night falls in but a few hours, and I'd rather not make camp so close to here." "You are too kind, milord! Surely, you would be better to travel without the burden of our protection," Ringo objected. "A lord who does not 'burden' himself with the safety of the commons is no lord, my lord father would say, no doubt. I carry no titles, myself, but by the Three, mine is a lordly house! Ganon take me if I leave you to the wolves. "I insist we share the road. No doubt the three of us may sleep easier tonight for it." Ringo gave no further objection. Inwardly, he was quite relieved to have the young noble as his escort. A swordsman trained by a proper master-at-arms was about as ideal a defense as one could ask for. The three of them set to work gathering rations for the road from what food had been stored in Ringo's cart. What pottery was left unbroken was also taken if room could be spared; this was, of course, Ringo's livelihood. Edric took what he could find on the cart to assemble a number of makeshift sacks and carrying pouches, and set to work with some rope tying together an ad hoc load-bearing harness to sling these filled pouches and sacks over the cart horse. He departed for a moment to retrieve his own rouncey as the trio prepared to begin its trek south. Edric led his horse forward as Falon began to walk. "My lady, I beg you take my horse that it might spare you the walk." Falon voiced some objection, no doubt, but Edric would have none of it as he helped her climb onto the rouncey. "As you wish, milord. I insist you accept this as a token of my gratitude," Falon demanded playfully. She removed the heavy, grey-green cloak from her shoulders and handed it back to its proper owner. Edric took the garment with a chuckle, placing it back on his own shoulders and fastening its brooch. "If it please you, my lady." Edric took the rouncey's mail-sleeved reins and led the animal on foot, walking alongside Ringo who led his own horse. The three left the broken cart behind, as any further salvage was, as yet, impossible. Before a sun sinking slowly toward the jagged, western horizon, the marched on atop the frozen earth. Winter continued as he had before, following his master only vaguely, instead pursuing one distraction after another. Falon watched the wolf come and go, giggling at his seemingly aimless meandering. Though more at ease now, Edric continued to scan the east with a sharp gaze. While the border of the forest receded some miles south, he could not trust that the highwaymen would not try to pursue him with some renewed determination. He led his small retinue roughly an hour farther than he had originally intended, hoping to place just that much more distance between the woods and his camp. Night had already fallen in earnest when he suggested that they stop and make camp. Edric and Ringo led their horses to a small cluster of trees some distance from the roadside, wherein Edric set about assembling a small campfire. Ringo set out three makeshift bedrolls of wool cloth and animal furs. Leaving both horses tied to a pair of trees beside the campsite, they took supper of waybread and cheese. Edric offered some pieces of smoked venison from his own rations to his two companions, who accepted happily. Packing the remains of supper, they threw more fuel on the waning fire and wrapped themselves in wool and furs as they could. Edric insisted he take the first watch while Falon and her father slept. Edric was not without fatigue of his own, but his companions had had their share of hardship. He felt it best to let them rest peacefully and without distraction. He sat by the fire for some time, shining Storm's blade with a rag. The fine steel scattered dancing, orange lights from the flames, its wavy, layered texture adding all the more intricacy to the reflected light. After some time had passed, Edric sat on a layer of furs that Ringo had set out for him. The older man was deep in slumber, and Edric decided against waking him, though he had agreed to. Winter would keep them safe. Minutes drifted by, and Edric felt his eyelids droop. He rested his head, hoping to convince himself that he would relax, but remain awake to keep the others safe. He was still urging himself to open his eyes when he finally drifted away into the soft darkness.
The stars still sparkled overhead when Edric's eyes cracked open. The sky above was clear but for a few scattered clouds sailing by, obstructing only small patches of the glittering, serene blackness. The trees reached for the heavens, their dark silhouettes like so many gnarled hands swaying gently in the soft, early morning breeze. The sun had only just started to hint at its approach, turning the dark skies above the eastern horizon a somewhat lighter shade of blue. He sat up slowly, stirring Winter, who sat curled up beside a stump from which he could observe his three pack-mates. The wolf raised his head curiously as Edric stood to tend the fire, now a pile of waning embers. He placed fresh wood on the fire, probing the glowing coals with a branch. A small handful of the driest leaves Edric could find served to bolster the flames, which soon grew into a tiny blaze contained in the center of a patch of cleared ground. Letting the fire crackle with new life, Edric sat beside Winter and gave the animal a gentle scratch behind the ears. Both of his companions remained in a deep, restful sleep. No doubt the previous day's events had left them far more drained than he. Strangely, though, he noticed that Falon had moved her place in the night. She had moved her fur bedroll nary a foot from where Edric had slept. Did she so desperately need to feel protected, or was it a gesture more significant still? He knew not what to make of it, but could scarcely keep from letting his thoughts wander. He shook his head. Such thinking was not lordly. He had pledged to be this girl's defender on her journey home. Whatever her intent, she was not an object for Edric's fantasies. He was to place her life above his own, and that was to be the end of it. In any case, the two of them were yet young, and both had faced the very real possibility of severe harm or even death. Under such circumstances, even the most chaste would feel the urge to take some form of life-affirming action. Forgetting his lust, he stood and approached her slowly, removing his cloak and draping it over her sheet of furs. With a renewed fire, Edric was sure he could endure the cold at least until she awoke. He sat beside Winter for some time in silence, watching the eastern sky grow brighter and turn a shade of cool, pinkish orange. Wind swept across the landscape in gentle, chilling gusts, and Edric wondered what secrets it whispered to the trees. Under an amber sky, Falon finally stirred from her slumber. Edric gave her a warm smile and stood as she rose. "I pray you slept soundly, my lady." "Aye, I did, milord," Falon responded. She gave a giggle when she noticed Edric's cloak slide from her shoulders. "Seems to me you find it difficult minding your garments." "I shall have to remedy that, then. Shan't I?" Edric chuckled, taking his cloak back and fastening it about his shoulders once more. "I never thanked you properly for helping us yesterday, milord. You saved me from... gods only know what." "Aye, and I would again without a thought, my lady. Brigands have no place in this world. A good man defends those who cannot defend themselves. My father has told me that for as long as I can recall." Falon pondered that for a moment. "If you don't mind my asking, have you ever had to... protect anyone before?" "Never," Edric shook his head, "I've never killed a man before. Maybe I still haven't, but if that man's arm festers, it will take the love of blessed Nayru, herself, to save him." "I'll shed no tears for him, milord." "Indeed. Nor will I," the young man agreed before changing the subject, "I should rouse your father as well. We shall want to get on the road before long." After doing this, Edric began packing any belongings into the stowage on his rouncey. The three took some time to break their fast with waybread and bits of cheese. Edric shared a few pieces of dried meat with Winter, who devoured the offering without hesitation. After kicking some snow over the fire, Edric helped Falon mount his rouncey a second time before leading his companions onto the road. Dawn had broken more earnestly by now, as the sun climbed lazily over the trees crowning the horizon. The morning sunlight revealed the glory of the northern plains in winter. The hills stretched for miles in all directions, coated in glistening white. The three travelers pulled their furs and cloaks about themselves, serenaded by the clapping of hooves against frozen earth and the chatter of trinkets and armor in their pouches upon the horses' backs. Edric kept Storm's scabbard hung on his hip though each step brought them further and further from the brigands residing in the Lost Woods. It took nearly a full day's trek until the trio finally came upon its destination. One journey was nearly over, but Edric new a clear task lay before him. After all, what sort of terrors had driven those brigands from the forest in the first place?
