Holmwood

Gods, that smells delicious...
Ameren peered over the back of her mare toward the campfire. The hillmen had caught a young doe earlier that afternoon and, after days of no fire and cold food, the aroma of roasting venison was damn near intoxicating. She stood there and just stared at the rotating meat for so long that the mare grew impatient of having her grooming interrupted, snorting and giving Ameren a shove to voice her discontent.

She'd known that their luck would run out eventually, that it was only a matter of time until they were discovered during their little trip through the orc-infested region. That it had to happen just then, on that narrow path along the cliffs by the Greyflood with heavy rain coming down and the blasted hillmen too far ahead to help, that was more than piss-poor luck.

"It's no good, damn orcs are everywhere down there," said Ameren, pulling her mare to a halt as she came closer to the cart. "If we still had the cover of rain we may have been able to slip past them, but on a beautiful day like this they'll see us coming from a mile off."

"Pathetic! Get up!"

Her muscles ached, arms and legs trembling as she tried to push herself up to at least get her head out of the dirt. She only just managed to dribble some bloody spittle onto the ground before they gave in and she found herself sprawled face down again.