Reyellin sighs, “How much further, woodsman? It has been days since we entered this wood!” Malicus pauses for a moment, sniffs the air, and replies, “I’m not sure, young lady. Vidalia is a small monastary, and as such has a small footprint on the forest.” He considers his surroundings for a minute, squeaks to Wingnut, perched upon his shoulder, and continues, “Squeak, squeak, chitter… ahem, that is to say, we are within a day or two walk, if my friend here is to correct. And, you know, he often is.” Malicus smiles at his new friends, as if he made a salient point, then chitters further with the flying squirrel perched upon his shoulder.
Dergar speaks up then. “The sun has set, and the light is nearly gone. I said before, and I say it again, shouldn’t we look for a place to rest?” Dergar surveys his surroundings, but finds nothing suitable for shelter to his half-orc eyes. “I can see still, yet your ‘pure’ eyes surely must be blind by now.”
Reyellin heeds the nomad’s words, stops, then says, “Dergar’s right, old man – we should find a safe place to camp now. I can barely see you at six paces.”
Malicus looks to the squirrel perched on his shoulder, who suddenly jumps down and rushes up a tree. “Wingnut! Where are you going?! We have…” He sighs. “Perhaps you’re right. Let’s look for a place to sleep.”
The three companions begin to discuss how to go about setting camp. Meanwhile, yellow eyes squint in their direction…