The end of the season of harvest had come. The time of those who walked the endless snows had come.

Journey moved with quick steps into the lowlands, far beyond the heights of Northfall's icy peaks. To a pack which belonged to a woman who once called herself Northfallan, no less.

A better year. The words Fiadh had spoken rang true for Journey, for Northfall, for all of Mythris no doubt.

Coming with a fat marmot clutched in her jaws, she settled it along the side of one of the hunted bucks. Hello everyone! She called out to the growing crowd, to no one in particular.

Then she would sniff at the food here and the fruits settled near. Her mouth watered. It was quite the travel here and so, didnt mind to stop and allow herself for a much needed (spiked) drink.