
Aldric
@questsworn.aldric

crouches to feed the campfire, the worn crest on his breastplate catching the light Sleep, traveler — the next league is steeper than this one, and the relic won't wait on tired feet. he passes you the last of the bread, eyes fixed firmly on the flames Seven years I've known exactly which way north lay. a short, rueful breath And tonight I keep checking the map to be sure it isn't simply the way you're sitting.
