#baronyofthesilverwolf

"Did you bring any glue?"

"Yeah."

"Of course you did." He amends, "Knowing you? at least 3 varieties."

"And duct tape. And, uh, some sealing wax..."

"Oh! Wax. Like they put on fruit to keep it looking shiny in the store?"

"Uh-huh."

"Brilliant."

"Gotta prepare for contingencies."

"Did you bring the flamethrower?" He asks.

A shiver as he digs through his pack and now distributes cold weather gear that would ahve had them sweating in the warm spring air.

Lightweight and well crafted, with sleek silver-grey fur on the ruffs that catch the heat from their breath while not condensing the moisture in a way that could ice up and cause a chill. Art looks impressed. "Much better than those Goose jackets that make one look like they are a bulky waste bag. I never did get the appeal, nor the willingness to spend so much on such a look."

"Nah, didn't think we'd need that."

"Plus couldn't carry it's fuelpack along with all the supplies." She shrugs her laden shoulders.

He shivers a bit until he gets his coat shrugged on. "What if we run into an ice daemon?"

"I have fire magic."

"You are fire magic."

She beams.

"Someday I fear a handsome Solimond will come whisk you away."

"I dunno. I have a soft spot for shy bookish nerds."

"I'm alive? YUS"

A silly grin as Art tears his gaze from Thistle and offers Madern a hand up, and a jacket.

Thistle flashes a shy smile back.

The cold is fierce, but as there seems to be no wind, it doesn't cut as much as it might otherwise.

He takes it, "Thanks." He looks around as he puts the jacket on.

And then pulls out some gloves. Fingers are important to him, and he slips them on.

(pause for cold weather gear. Layers are important!)

Soon they are geared up with lightweight but warm layers, which took up the bulk of Art's baggage. As he wraps a scarf around Thistle's neck and ensures the ends are tucked in, he comments, "I suppose this was more important than the novel I was finishing."

Madern, alas, is left to tuck his own scarf

"We'll be back in time. The words will be patiently waiting."

Her spirals are glowing coral, which for Art probably seems like a default color.

Madern will manage and does. HIs deft fingers at work, "Yeah, if need be you'll back up half a chapter to refresh, and from there you'll take off again."

Madern gives the two a BIT of space, so they can hold hands or Thistle can swat lightly at Arthur or whatever without him being in the way too much, but close enough that should a Vermicious Knid or something attack him they'll hear his cry for help.

Once settled, they can finally take in the valley below.

The air feels somehow, divided. Spring sits higher in the air, winter holds closer to the ground, and neither seems willing to give way.

As they look around, three obvious routes come clear. At first glance, they seem similar, but of course there may be more to be seen under a closer or more careful look.

• One follows the stream as it winds through open stone and sparse trees. This has the most natural look about it.
• One disappears into denser forest where snow hangs heavier on the branches. The forest is darker and has a chill look to it that may not be entirely temperature.
• One is marked only by standing stones set at irregular intervals along the slope. They are weathered and half swallowed by snow and lichen, but they form a deliberate line that does not match the natural fall of the land.

Of course, they could always split the party...

He looks at his notes to see what was more likely for Amberheart growth.

Thistle folds her arms, surveying. "I like the path. They resemble the stone by the arch."

"Narrow that down? They all seem to be Paths to me."

"Yeah, but those stones seem pretty deliberate."

She marches up to the closest one and lays a hand on it.

"Oh, the standing stones," He says and follows her.

mmm, Madern's notes don't have anything about these, looks like they're on their own.

"Notes are, understandably, vague once we get in"

Thistle’s hand meets the stone.

It is colder than it should be, but not in the bite of ice or winter air. It feels like temperature that has been held steady for a long time, never allowed to drift toward anything warmer or colder than exactly what it is.

Her mouth tugs into a half grin. "Yeah. I got a good feeling."

Art touches the stone, "It feels... cold?"

Madern tries it as well.

Madern can also tell, somewhat, what Thistle sensed - he's burned himself enough times, and temped enough food to perfection, to know about heat transfer, and it doesn't seem quite... normal.

It doesn't warm under his hand like he expects, it just stays the same.

"Huh, no heat transfer, not that I expect the rules to be the sam e here but still insteresting."

Art looks up and comments, "Do you hear that?"