[ Ciri makes a habit of checking the perimeter widely and often. Beasts have approached the camp, some able to be deterred, some far too dangerous to fight. Occasionally, she's spotted other human footsteps in the snow. But this is the first time that she's followed them and actually found the owners: a small knot of robed figures, armed and discussing something amongst themselves in hushed voices. Judging by the tracks, they'd been scoping out the camp, possibly spotted one of the escapees sheltering there.
Dusk is quickly greying out the last rays of the sun. It's unlikely they'll try to strike at night, but Ciri isn't interested in finding out.
She approaches slowly, stepping carefully in the snow. Hefting a thick, wickedly sharpened stick in her right hand, as she presses her back to the wide trunk of an evergreen and watches the gathered acolytes around it. ]
for hilda.
Dusk is quickly greying out the last rays of the sun. It's unlikely they'll try to strike at night, but Ciri isn't interested in finding out.
She approaches slowly, stepping carefully in the snow. Hefting a thick, wickedly sharpened stick in her right hand, as she presses her back to the wide trunk of an evergreen and watches the gathered acolytes around it. ]