Follow the trail.

Your head is spinning slightly, and your rebellious stomach lurches from time to time out of sync with the rest of your movements. Gulping some more water and taking a couple of steps from the path, you try to steady your nerves while looking about you.

The prospect of having to fight is galling in your current condition. But there is something ominous about the woods to the side of the trail, tugging at your attention and drawing your gaze. Ramos' **** speaks volumes.

"Onward. We do not know what we will find ahead and the... going will be easier, on the path."

Ramos nods, and steps towards the warhorse, divesting himself of his pack, and larger items such as Tully's axe. Aegis whickers softly and betrays no discomfort at the extra load. Unwrapping a long skin-bound bundle, Ramos holds the dead man's mighty longbow at arm's length, looping a cord at one end before planting it on the ground and bending the wood towards himself with a grimace of effort. In a few short moments the bow forms a graceful arc, only an inch or two greater than the man's own height. Your companion turns back to you with only the bow in his hand, the dagger at his hip and the quiver on his back.

"In that case, we must be ready to fight. If those ahead do not have grim intentions, then they are travelling recklessly, and may draw danger to them in their oblivion. Let us not be caught in it unawares."

It was yet more than two hours before you caught up with the other travellers - fortunately ample time for your nausea to be long gone. In the growing darkness, Ramos' sharp ears caught the sound of scraping metal only moments ago and he has gone slightly ahead to try and get a view of the mystery party. You tether Aegis, but not too securely, knowing that the noble horse would not deserve to be found, helpless, by your enemies should everything in the next few minutes go wrong. Despite feeling foolish that you are talking to a horse, you tell him that he is to run if anyone strange should come for him.

Drawing your weapon from its sheath as quietly as possible, you skip forward, the holy sword held in both hands as lightly as a weapon of its size can be. You glimpse the cloaked form of Ramos some thirty yards ahead, pressed against the trunk of a huge chestnut. He is peering around the massive tree, revealing only the tiniest fraction of himself to whatever lies ahead. Keeping the dark wood between you and your unknown adversaries, you approach Ramos.

"You have a light foot Paladin," the huntsman whispers. "Was stealth on the agenda in your training these past years?"

"An holy warrior meets her enemies head on. I am no longer that. And any Abbey Novice finds need for stealth if she is not to become a cosseted, frightened weakling." Despite the gravity of the situation, the man's dark face crinkles in mirth at your intemperance.

"There's my girl again. Well now, here's a pretty setting for a not-holy warrior such as yourself. Lean out a little and tell me what you see."

Being careful not to expose your hiding spot, you peek around the side of the tree. Ahead of you some two-score feet lies a camp, with healthy fire, stretched skins for shelter, and, of course, occupants.