Snow

And so began a long list of declines from the locals of Forochel on his friend’s whereabouts. Kauppa-Kohta was a dead end, Pynti-Peldot was a dead end, and Stitches was certain that the next stop would be the same. The dark accompaniment over his shoulder warned him time and time again that Forochel would yield no answers, but Stitches persisted, whether it is to be thorough or just to spite his new dislike for the cloaked figure, it is unclear. As the night drew upon Stitches and Bread, the deathly chill was a certainty.

White.

It was white everywhere. The ground, the sky, even the air around him was white as snow fell heavily.

It was cold as well. So cold. He was wearing all the furs and thick woollen clothes he could find, yet still the cold found its way in. At least he was moving, keeping warm.

To:

Mr. Brablo Boffin

Boffin's Burrow

6th Brookbank

     I left the dwarf stronghold a few days later, they sent me off with well preserved traveling food, and fresh blankets. The day was much warmer than the day I arrived, and I was able to make progress working my way back east to see the other half of the land. I moved past many familiar land marks, and by the afternoon I had successfully re-traced my steps.     As I continued onward, a thick fog rolled in, and soon I could barely see ten feet in front of me.

This time, his head ached even more - Most likely because of the fact that this time, he hadnt drank some infused water, but instead - Beer. He was forced to drink it, that much he remembered. Oh how he hated beer, how he loathed any form of alcohol. The drunkards' drink, the one that clouded your mind, made you slip. Atleast he knew what time it was, though he didn’t know where he was for a moment - He woke up in a bale of hay, with thin strands of grass in his mouth, and dust on his face.