Chapter 11 - Part I

Herbaceous little plants of the forest floor, already heavy with fruit and seed, were crushed without mercy as leather boots landed and left their mark.  She could not help but leave signs of her presence in the thick understory of an oak and maple forest, but hopefully that didn't matter.  Less of concern to her was the possibility of someone following her than the probability of losing her quarry.

She stopped for a moment to breathe and grabbed her wineskin from around her waist.  It no longer contained wine of course, that was gone within the first couple of days, easily.  Each cool brook or stream she used to refill it offered increasingly clearer water, though each time the hint of wine was further and further diluted. 

Just as well, she considered.  Wine for my lips was just as unnatural as a pillowed cushion to sleep on.  She looked southeast, back from where she had come from instinctively.  Still nothing.  No sign of anyone here in the middle of nowhere.  The last town she had past was over a two days' hike and the people of Vokdren had paid her no more heed than any other hunter or traveler passing through.

She pulled the loose weave sleeves of her linen tunic up as a futile effort to ward off the day's late Warmtide heat.  All of her other clothing had been well packed in her rucksack in anticipation of the coming cool.  The major moon would soon disappear from the night leaving the minor moon all alone until mid spring.  That would make tracking difficult.  Even more difficult would be the mid-winter Coldtide celebrations, where most people on the continent celebrated the age advancement of their people at once. 

Denizens from all over the continent would often leave to visit their families in mass exodus.  Inland, indigenous cultures usually preferred to mark the actual day each individual was born and celebrate that day once every two tides, rather than have all people born in a tide celebrate it at the same time, so perhaps the roads would not be as blocked.  Still, Coldtide celebrations were most certainly the more hectic of the two, with many more people opting to stay in their resident villages during the Warmtide celebrations.  A farmer has to farm, after all, even if she's ready to celebrate her 100th tide.

She hoped she would have found what she was looking for by then.

A few blackberries, ripe to perfection taunted her from the safety   "Feh."she grabbed them, incurring a slight abrasion and giving up a drop of blood.  Food was hard to come by in her haste, and even if she had the time, she didn't have the skill.  This made the berries all the sweeter.

She looked north once, wistfully before returning to the task at hand, grabbing the leather thong around her neck.  On it, a smooth, small oval ornament of copper and a ruby red liquid sloshed about her neck.  She touched gingerly and felt it speak to her through her bones.

"Just where where is Dagleth's host sending him?" she wondered out loud.  No time to think.  Time to move.
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