151

You make it off the crash site and bolt from the wreck. Your limbs feel progressively lighter, the air thins and cools. You still hear the raucous shrieking for a while. Immediately clear of the carriage you have to **** your way through the undergrowth. It isn’t straightforward to begin with, but the sloping and rugged terrain makes it worse. You are unable to avert a fall after your foot is caught in a pothole, and roll flailing out of control down the hill. Your clothes rip, your skin tears, you hit your head and you pass out.

Moments later you come to with the sun in your eyes. You’re on the inner edge of the wood. Just outside you can see a barbed fence, and possibly cows.

Your clothes are ruined, letting your bits partially hanging out awkwardly. You’ll need to cover up soon. Perhaps the fortified farms can give you an old blanket. At least it’s summer; you won’t freeze.

Yet both straps destroyed and gone, your backpack still holds all your possessions. You can still make fire, cut meat and snare small prey. You shouldn’t have to do so anymore though; not if you can find work in the Citadel.

The dead man’s pendant lies just a few inches from where your hand would have hit the ground and let go of it. It’s your now. Whatever lurking spirit craved it, you’re the one to wear, sell, destroy or curse it, for now.

You set out toward the path. The sun is shining bright, birdsong fills your ears, and the cool air is soothing on your myriad cuts and bruises.

Turn to 316.