The sun begins to set

After what feels like, and likely has been, half a day of walking, you notice the sun is beginning to fade. With the thick trees pressing in around you, the fading light gives cause for some concern, as much of the light at this point is blocked by the woods.

Considering the fading daylight, you decide it best to stop at a small clearing you've stumbled into and make camp. The area is a few paces wide on each side, just big enough to comfortably set up your tent and sleeping bag and still have room for a fire.

You race the dwindling sun to quickly set about assembling your campsite, thanking your years of study as you cast a quick cantrip you memorized in your earlier days at Northale in order to light your fire. Having assembled some promising timber from the surrounding forest, the fire lights up with gusto, and you pull up a slightly mossy log beside the flames to rest for a moment.

You realize with slight embarrassment that, in your hurry to make progress on the first day of your journey, you failed to secure any passable food for your dinner. However, it wouldn't be the first night you've gone without, and you feel it may be better to save your rations for the morning to come. For now you simply scold yourself mentally, and make a note to be more mindful in the coming days.

Ironically, as you steal yourself with determination to be more observant and less headstrong, you fail to notice the creeping sensation of the moss on the log, as it begins to cling to the seat of your robe. Drawn by the faint magic of the clothing's enchantments, the moss begins to spread ever so slowly.