Four days journey due west of Hnaerud, the ruts worn by farmer's carts and oxen begin to taper away, the meandering cartpath further overgrown with gorse and burrs. Here the ambling hills and terraced fields give way to the foothills of the Brass Mountains. Though unmarked by any formal boundary or estate, this is where one of Wolt's wild lands begins. This is where adventure begins.
Summer was just unfurling across the land, and with the occasional shortcut through short shocks of wheat and fording pebble-lined brooks, the three travelers where making superb time. In fact, Cole could make out the distant peaks of the mountains through the sunset haze, striking striations of tawny yellow and red that gave the range its name.
"Press on another hour, and then stop for the night?"
This was addressed to Evander, the tracker who had steered them on thus far. Evander did little more than bat his fingers westward to express his agreement. While his expert guidance had helped the three immensely, the unnerving intensity of the tracker's gaze spurred them even further, distant silver beneath his mottled brown hooded cloak. Cole considered himself fortunate to be spared that haunting, far-too-distant gaze. Hunter's eyes.
Hardly had the sentence left Cole's lips before Norece, their third companion, was gently nodding assent. Of course, it may well be just nodding to the meter of his devotions, recited silently as the group rode along, the silver symbol of Yrah cradled gently in his left hand. Norece held his piebald plowhorse's reigns even more casually, and his eyes would flicker open only briefly, raising some doubt in Cole's mind as to how the contemplative kept his mount on course. Surely the workings of Great Mystery weren't used to such jejune ends? One touched by Yrah, enlightened as they called themselves, were seldom the type to take up wandering. Yet his presence was altogether welcome. It would be night soon, and a night in the wilds of Wolt was no trifling matter.
Neither was their quest.
The three had decided to journey west, past the mountains and then the harsh desert, to pay homage to the heroes that had come before, and to seek inspiration and resolve at the toppled remains of Wolt's most profane places. They were headed much further west. To the temple.
Summer was just unfurling across the land, and with the occasional shortcut through short shocks of wheat and fording pebble-lined brooks, the three travelers where making superb time. In fact, Cole could make out the distant peaks of the mountains through the sunset haze, striking striations of tawny yellow and red that gave the range its name.
"Press on another hour, and then stop for the night?"
This was addressed to Evander, the tracker who had steered them on thus far. Evander did little more than bat his fingers westward to express his agreement. While his expert guidance had helped the three immensely, the unnerving intensity of the tracker's gaze spurred them even further, distant silver beneath his mottled brown hooded cloak. Cole considered himself fortunate to be spared that haunting, far-too-distant gaze. Hunter's eyes.
Hardly had the sentence left Cole's lips before Norece, their third companion, was gently nodding assent. Of course, it may well be just nodding to the meter of his devotions, recited silently as the group rode along, the silver symbol of Yrah cradled gently in his left hand. Norece held his piebald plowhorse's reigns even more casually, and his eyes would flicker open only briefly, raising some doubt in Cole's mind as to how the contemplative kept his mount on course. Surely the workings of Great Mystery weren't used to such jejune ends? One touched by Yrah, enlightened as they called themselves, were seldom the type to take up wandering. Yet his presence was altogether welcome. It would be night soon, and a night in the wilds of Wolt was no trifling matter.
Neither was their quest.
The three had decided to journey west, past the mountains and then the harsh desert, to pay homage to the heroes that had come before, and to seek inspiration and resolve at the toppled remains of Wolt's most profane places. They were headed much further west. To the temple.