Yuragwyn: Yours

---Chapter 17

∞Kaitra∞

Soon after we wake up and get going again, the blessed numbness, of both the mind and body, kicks in. Three, maybe four, days go by before the change in terrain and weather brings me back to consciousness. We had made it this far without rain, but it would wait no longer. And it wasn't really rain—that I could have tolerated more. It was just misty, misty enough to make your face sticky and your arms cold. As we walk, the ground becomes steadily muddier, barer and bleaker. Though Traugott said the coldest months had just passed by, it appears this forsaken corner of Yuragwyn had not yet received the message to let go of the winter and move forward into spring. Trees are more abundant, taller, and darker here, though. Unexposed camping sites are more prevalent, but dry ones are few and far between.

Calanthe gets quiet as we pick our way through this wasteland, and Briallen gets more sullen. Chills play Chopin on my backbone at every crack or caw. What lives here? Will it attack us? To die by the sword is one thing; being eaten by a mythical creature in the swamp is quite another.

"Where are we?" I whisper. We no longer walk in single file but instead abreast, huddling together for both warmth and sanctuary.

Traugott whisks his sword around at a thud back to our left, "Abyss."

"Properly named," I grumble, bow and arrow poised and ready at the sight of a single face.

"Most of Yuragwyn is refined and homely," Calanthe says. She ducks under a branch covered with goo. "Abyss, though is a wasteland, and until only a few years ago, we thought it well enough to leave it alone. Now a few centaurs and other crazy adventurers have got it in their heads to colonize a little area on the coast, called Entel."

"That's where we're headed," Traugott explains. "There is good fishing there, and one day we hope to carve a trade route to the shore to get some of that fish back to the rest of the country."

"And how long will it take us to get there?" Calanthe asks as I wonder what centaurs could be.

Traugott turns first to me, "Hiltraud is a centaur," and then to Calanthe, "three or four days at least, with Laurelle thawing the water. As far as the weather is concerned, we have come at the best time."

We settle into a tense silence. Our steps become larger and larger as our boots sink deeper and deeper into the black muck that oozes out of the ground. The sun disappears behind the thick woods, leaving us in ever increasing darkness. In the twilight, I take hold of Traugott's left arm, both for leverage when the mud cools and direction when the light falls out of the sky entirely. Calanthe grabs onto my arm for the same reason, her longsword held rather timidly in her trembling hand. Only Briallen does not join our small knot. She struggles behind us, ignoring Calanthe's offers to take her hand and pull her along.

Traugott points out a small acropolis, and we half walk, half wade towards it. It is no larger than Traugott is tall, both directions, but it is dry. We slide off our boots and set them on the slope. The mud has not yet come so deep as to top them, so we leaving changing to the next day. The habit is for ritual only; all of our clothes have been worn at least twice without a washing, excusing mine and Traugott's from the River Rapha, which seems like years and years ago.

Our mats fit side by side only barely, creating a single pad for the area of the little hilltop. It is at least twenty degrees cooler here than in Quieve, and our plain blankets and cloaks now are little comfort. We lay down- Traugott, Calanthe, myself, and Briallen- and try ferociously to catch a few winks between the night noises.