Tolin stoked the embers of the fire pit back to a sputtering of life. The meager flames gave little warmth and even less light. His back against a mighty Lorthain Oak, Tolin reached out with his spark, looking for any kind of life in this sun forsaken winter nightmare. Nothing. He stood and stretched, causing the boiled leathers beneath his fur cloak to creak. "One more night of sharpening Elic and eating hardbread," he said to the icy wind. Elic was nearly out of its scabbard when a branch snapped and whipped somewhere behind him. Odd, he thought, as his spark has not sensed anything. He finished drawing Elic and turned. There before him stood............ Next visitor may continue this tale.