You've been traveling for a long while now. The last familiar place your eyes have rested upon was the fortress-mountain of Salamandastron, and that was many days ago. Your weary footpaws trudge endlessly southeast, on a scrawny, meandering path. You're surrounded by forest, and every sound seems muted, hushed and reverent. You think you're in a canyon of some sort, but the trees are too thick to tell if there's rock rising above you. The haversack slung across your back seems to get heavier with every step, and you've been hearing fresh, rushing water for days, but haven't been able to find it. Drinking old water out of the canteen is torture with the sound nearby. Will it never end? You come to an obstruction in the path, a heavy clump of bushes in the middle of your walkway. Pawsore and tired, you lose your temper. You heave the bushes apart, giving them a thrashing for being in your way.
