A quiet trail...

Ramos knows these woods like the back of his hand, and after only a couple of hours the density of trees begins to thin out. There is still little sunlight penetrating the canopy to light your way, but it is brightening imperceptibly, and with it the spirits of you and your companion remain buoyant, trading easy banter as you learn more about each other. Aegis plods along dutifully, but almost seems bored with the slow pace of humans on foot.

Ramos is telling you of his daughter Ella, named in part after her pious aunt. She is a spritely child of five years, resisting all of her mother's attempts to teach her good feminine behavior and displaying more than a hint of the hunting instinct of her father, trapping and catching rats almost as effectively as the village cats. His wife, Teryn, is a native of the hills in which they now live. She is young, barely older than yourself, and the strength of his love for her burns in his speech. It is also however implicit in his words that the two of them have endured no end of scandal at their intermarriage, and that he had to fight the resentment of his village peers for years. You gather that Teryn was among the most eligible young ladies for miles around when Ramos and Eliza arrived in these lands, she still a child and himself not yet out of his teens. The young archer won her heart with his easy kindness and respectful demeanor, worlds apart from the thuggish local lads that vied for her affections. It all sounds very romantic, and your heart warms to Teryn despite having yet to meet her. As you walk, you try to calculate how old they were when they married, and manage to suppress your astonishment when you realise that Teryn must have been only fifteen and he around nineteen. Hardly more than children and **** to grow up so fast in the face of such hostility: little wonder that Ramos is such a self-sufficient individual. It is clear that they live in some degree of poverty, and you feel a pang of anger at the harsh treatment they undoubtedly still receive. Preoccupied by these thoughts, you have fallen into silence and other than the occasional sidelong glance from your companion, the two of you remain that way for a mile or two.

With a horrifying suddenness, a fierce cramp and pang of nausea assails your stomach. Involuntarily you fall to your knees and retch violently onto the soft forest floor. Ramos leaps back to you from his position slightly further up the path. There is little he can do other than hush gently and keep your hair clear of the vomit. The interminable heaves gradually produce less and less until there is only thin, foul-tasting bile. When there is almost nothing left to bring up, your torment stops, and you collapse exhaustedly into Ramos' lap. He offers you his water-skin and you rinse out your mouth, spitting weakly to one side.

"Mmm... sorry about the mess."

"You didn't get any on me, Paladin." Although his tone is teasing, he cannot mask the concern in his voice.

"Damn... I'll have to... try harder next time," you jest back, weakly. He chuckles, a little too readily.

"You'll need a bit o' nourishment to replace all that, Sabine." He offers a small skin-wrapped package with a handful of cured venison strips. You take it, and nibble tentatively at the salty meat, expecting not to be able to stomach it. Oddly, you find yourself ravenous and gobble the whole lot up. "Easy there, I don't want you wasting all our supplies if it comes up again." That same teasing is even more strained this time; not only with concern, but something else as well... you are too distracted by the turmoil in your belly to dwell on it, and instead take a little more water before rising unsteadily to your feet. "Now, Paladin. If you are well enough, we must make a decision."

"Decision?" Your echoing response betrays your shaky nerves.

"There have been signs for the last mile or so that we share this path with others. I cannot tell how many - perhaps three, perhaps five. Probably Human, or Orc. If they are Orcs they are unusually subtle... if they are Humans they are painfully clumsy. Neither bodes well for us, should we meet them." You are struggling to focus on his words, but gesture for him to go on. "We can continue on this path and hope we get enough warning to avoid them, or..." His hesitation speaks volumes.

"Or we can take another path now. One you are **** to suggest."

"I can see your brain is still working, child. You have it right. In truth, I would suggest neither, go back to the cave, and lie low for a day or three, but such a delay would likely be disastrous for your... our mission." There is a long pause. "The other route takes us into some deep woods. The deepest. There are many, uh, stories about that place, and I will be a meagre guide. The decision must be yours, Paladin."

That last honorific, so irreverent and teasing when he used it before, is now laden with responsibility and meaning. It is disconcerting, to say the least, that a man such as this - self-reliant and independent - has these misgivings.