[maikafanawen]

The fog was unbelievably dense, and Wren had trouble keeping on the path and trying not to walk over everyone before her, as well as not being trampled herself. All her belongings were strapped to her back or around her waist and she was constantly adjusting things so that the weight was proportioned all around her. She realized that it would probably be another week before she got used to carrying things like a pack-horse.

The group, annoyed at the fog as well, stopped to decide what to do. Bregand proposed splitting up and scouting ahead while the rest stayed put. It wasn’t exactly a clever idea because getting separated in this mess as well as being subject to wild men/cannibal attacks would not be to their advantage. However, they really had no idea what else to do, so Wren agreed without argument.

She was standing behind Bregand, when he confessed that he would be no good in a fight. The noblewoman gave him a single reassuring pat on the back.

“You are not so bad a warrior boy, I’ve seen worse. I should think to go with the scouting group as well. I have recently traveled this way, and could be of use with the sword, unless anyone thinks otherwise.” The fog disabled her from reading faces, but she didn’t think anyone doubted her so much. She had taken her first kill very well—too well—and people seemed to think her company a bit more useful now. Wren shrugged it off waiting for Rangar to decide if this idea was fine, and who would join which party.

“Let’s not stay separated too long. I have a whistle to sound if the scouting group finds anything. Does anyone else have one?”