Luthiriensis had spent a largely sleepless, mostly uncomfortable, utterly miserable night and then the dwarf had had them rising before the Sun had even considered edging its rays over the land. A sullen mist had gathered, leaving beads of dew upon her suede riding trousers, dampening them far too much and they would never look good ever again, and left her feeling even more uncomfortable as they began the day's journey.

After arduous mile upon mile of riding, her trousers squeaking against the worn leather of the saddle every time she tried to adjust herself, they had come across a spread of trees unlike any she had ever seen. The trees looked sinister. They looked malevolent. They looked slightly bored, which was strange in and of itself. Mott drew them to a halt, leaning upon the saddle of his pony, and scratched his beard in thought. That probably took more effort than it looked.

"Is that it? The place where the ... Beldames? ... have the heir?" It didn't look at all impressive to Luthiriensis. "The Marsh of Unpleasant Stuff?"

"Does it look like a marsh?" Mott turned a pitying look toward her. "No, that is the start of the Withering Weald."

"And what's that?" She pointed to a forlorn structure at the edge of the sad-looking forest.

"Ooh! Ooh! I know this!" The dragon curled around Luthiriensis' horse, her head coming a little too close for the gelding's comfort. The horse snorted and stamped its hooves. "Mummy told me all about it. Long ago, a King, or a Queen, or someone who thought they had more money than sense, decided the Weald was too dangerous for travellers and decided to build a wall around it and along the path through it."

Luthiriensis stared at the listing structure. It looked a little like a wall, if you could consider one layer of stones, that drifted around ten feet in either direction, and a mournful pile of stones barely three feet in height with a rusted gate dangling from it, a wall. If the Wall of Lamentable Impressiveness, in Lhuhurrr, was ... impressive, and it was, then this was the sheer definition of the opposite. It wasn't even disappointing because Luthiriensis hadn't expected to see a wall at all. It looked pointless. Which it was.

"If this place is so dangerous, why are we going through it?" She lifted herself into the stirrups, her trousers creaking, and looked both ways along the forest edge. "Why don't we go around?"

"We could, if you want to navigate the Mountains of Interminable Rockfalls, that way, or the Vacuous Verge of Verbibni, the other way." He waved his hand one way, where the forest spread away into the far distance, then the other way, where the forest spread into a different far distance. "It would add, ooh, maybe two, three weeks to the journey, either way, and we'd run the risk of certain death, or worse, but, certainly, we could."

Luthiriensis chewed upon her bottom lip, a habit her parents had tried to beat out of her, but had only caused her to almost chew her lip off more than once. Thanks to the wonderful ministrations of elven healers, she didn't have any scars to mar her etherial beauty, but she still chewed her lip when she struggled with decisions. Or when she needed to pee when there were no nearby facilities. Which reminded her.

She dismounted, cringing at the vulgar sound her trousers and the saddle made, and searched for a discreet bush. She didn't relish removing the trousers, which she felt certain had shrunk during the hateful night, and wished the dwarf had allowed her to bring along her silk toilet pants. He hadn't and, as she struggled behind a nearby rock, she tried to decide whether this was at all worth it.

Adventure wasn't all it was cracked up to be. It had far too much discomfort for her liking, took too long, and had a dwarf. The last reason, alone, would have had most elves quailing and howling in lament, but she was made of far more stern stuff. She had suffered having to wait at the roadside as a carriage driver fixed a wheel. She was no stranger to hardship. If she turned her horse around, ran the poor beast to within an inch of its life, she could be back in the city by nightfall and wallowing in a nice, hot, scented bath before retiring to a bed. A real bed!

"Hello! Hello! Ummm, I was wondering ..." Pinto's large, fierce-looking head curled around the rock, catching Luthiriensis mid-stream. That wasn't too much of a problem as she could not pee in front of others. The stream came to an unsatisfying, and immediate end. "Do you, by any chance, have any teeny-tiny problems with creatures of the arachnid variety? Just asking. You know, for the record."

"You're making a record of all this?" She tried to hide her elven lady bits from the dragon, that appeared far too curious for Luthiriensis' liking. "Wait. Arachnids? Like, spiders? Horrible creatures, for certain, but I've found a swift boot upon them, preferably launched from a distance, usually does the trick. Why?"

"Oh, no reason." Pinto looked down at Luthiriensis' field boots, peeking out from under the gathered riding trousers, and tilted her head. "You're going to need a bigger boot."

Pinto's head disappeared and Luthiriensis could swear she saw the dragon make a wide-eyed cringe. It was a strange question, for certain, but she was a hardy elf. Little bothered her. Except, of course, poor, or none, bathing facilities, discomfort, not sleeping a full eight hours through the night. Badly made clothing. That bothered her. And gossips that refused to include her in their whispers. Beavers. They really bothered her. But not much else. Well, quite a lot else, but she could handle it. She had, after all, witnessed a brawl between an ogre and a half-giant once. From a very great distance, admittedly, but ogres had a thing about throwing stones. Boulders, rather.

Unable to continue her urinating, she fought to pull up her riding trousers, grimacing at the way the damp suede felt against her skin, and fastened them before heading back out to the others, where she found them both deep in conversation. A conversation that came to an abrupt halt as she neared.

"Who's Ugnth? And did I hear 'the Hirsute Limbed'?" She waited for an answer and, as one didn't seem forthcoming, she decided to continue anyway. It probably wasn't important. "Best get on, then, eh? It'll take us, what, an hour or two to reach the other side?"

"More like a day or two, if we ride like the wind and nothing ... ummm ... no, nothing will happen. Everything will be fine." Mott watched her climbing back onto her saddle, grimacing as the suede rubbed against the leather, then exchanged glances with Pinto. "Have you, by any chance, practiced your archery recently?"

"Oh, yes! I launched a few feathers only last year." She gave a conspiratorial tilt of the head. "Dame Fliddecombe of Ganaria wagered that I couldn't hit a barn door if I stood six-feet from it. I showed her, I can tell you! And on only my eighth arrow, too."

She could tell they were both suitably impressed as their jaws slackened, gazing upon her with the requisite amount of awe and respect. She had that affect on people, through the mere dint of her looks alone, but she did so enjoy it when people were often staggered by her dazzling skills and abilities, too. As she basked in their adoration, she frowned and chewed upon her lip once again. There was still the prospect of a, possible, two-day journey through a dank and chronically depressing forest to face.

"Well, then." Pinto raised her eyebrows in a way that looked as though she prepared to wreck a village that had decide her gold was better off in their pockets.

"Aye." And Mott appeared to chew cud like some common grazing animal before puffing out his cheeks. "Best get on, then."

"I'll lead the way!" Not that she wanted to, but she would feel far more safe if they got this done as fast as possible. "Follow ... wait. It is a straight path, isn't it? And not overgrown? Perhaps you should go first? You don't have so far to fall if you're pony gets tripped."

Her magnanimity knew no bounds. Except when Luthiriensis didn't want to be magnanimous which, to be fair, was practically all the time. In this instance, her magnanimity did know a bound and that bound involved others getting injured before her. Not that she wanted Mott injured, as such, but she would much rather it was him sent flying, backside over pate, than her. Magnanimity was all good and well when it was to her advantage. Though she would never let anyone know that. Illusions, after all, required constant maintenance.

Everything went rather well for the most part of the day. Even the trees appeared to only mope rather than give the impression of suffering immediate suicidal tendencies. How trees could appear so morose, Luthiriensis wasn't entirely clear, but these trees certainly gave the impression that life, in general, was horrendous and best left to those that could appreciate it while they wallowed in their self-pity and considered the advantages of becoming timber stock for housing.

By the time they completely missed the setting of the Sun, Luthiriensis considered they had passed the half-way point of the forest, with a judicious use of rest and galloping that kept the horse and pony shy of collapsing through overexertion. Mott found them a clearing and, this time, Luthiriensis even offered to help gathering wood. She even picked up a twig to show serious her offer truly was.

"Oh, we're not having a fire tonight. Not here." He looked around and Luthiriensis got the distinct impression that he was absolutely terrified. "Don't know what you'll attract."

"No fire? But how am I supposed to dry my suede riding trousers? How am I supposed to keep warm? How will I sleep if wolves decide that people without fires aren't nearly as dangerous as those with them?" She held out the twig to him, waggling it. "Here. Make a fire, there's a good ... dwarf. Besides, Pinto says this place isn't nearly as awful as it sounds."

"In my defence, the Withering Weald does sound really, really awful." Pinto huddled near the horse and the pony, but they didn't appear to like it. "If you want my advice, you should just, you know, sit quietly and try not to breathe. Or not breathe at all. That would be good. Not breathing. It's overrated anyway."

"I'm actually quite attached to breathing. It's comforting." She looked around for Mott, but he had disappeared. Mostly. "What are you doing?"

"I'm settling down for the night. You should, too." He had scuttled into the tightest crook between two thick roots of a tree, his bedroll covering him as he scooped rotting leaves over himself. He hooked a thumb at her horse. "You've not grown attached to that horse, have you. Probably for the best if you haven't."

"It's nice. As far as horses go. I've seen better." She placed her balled fists upon her hips, doing her very best stern expression at them both. "What is wrong with you two? You look like the darkness itself is about to swallow you!"

"That would be preferable." Pinto squeaked from under the bellies of the horse and pony, both of which stamped their hooves upon the dragon in several places.

Luthiriensis couldn't believe it. Both Mott and Pinto were acting odd in the extreme. She thought them both a little more brave than this and it came somewhat as a surprise that she appeared the only one not cowering in fear. Yes, the forest looked as dull as the dust-covered librarians back in Fenestri. The kind of people that could talk about cracking the spines of books, or, rather, how not to, for days on end. The kind of dull that Autumn days, filled with murky mists and darkened skies would look positively vibrant in comparison. But, it wasn't that bad. Surely?

"Hello, Pinto." A voice like the slithering of millions of snakes rasping through the flesh and bones of rotting corpses whispered from behind Luthiriensis. "I thought we had an agreement."

Luthiriensis didn't want to turn around and look at what sounded so bad that everything she had ever considered bad, throughout her entire life, looked mildly pleasing in hindsight. In fact, she strictly ordered herself not to turn around or there would be dire consequences for herself and she would make sure she made herself suffer for not listening to herself. The word 'menacing' took on entire new dimensions with that voice. Even her bowels were too frightened to eject any waste from her. If evil had a voice, it would prefer to not be around the creature that had uttered those words through fear that being evil just wasn't quite good enough against something this terrifying.

She turned around. She never listened to anyone, at the best of times, why should she listen to herself?