The valley of Eranell

Émeraude was sick of the north. The cold, the dark, all of it. He'd left his nice warm home in Émeran to come out here seeking a goal that probably didn't even exist. He was now out of food. Actually, he'd run out of food a while back. The snares he'd brought along had saved his life more than once on this wretched journey, gifting him with bits of squirrel, mice, and the occasional snow rabbit, but now they were all gone. His water had run out ages ago, forcing him to drink snowmelt. He had gone too far to turn back so he had no choice but to trudge on. Émeraude had tried hunting with the bow he carried in the oilskin strapped to his back, but it seemed even the beasts had abandoned this frozen wasteland. What little game there was moved as quick as an oiled marble and seemed to be twice as slippery.

Sitting around the pitiful smoky fire he'd managed to scrounge up, Émeraude wondered why he'd ever agreed to such a nonsensical quest. "Head up to mount Eranell, Émeraude ", he muttered mockingly, " head up indeed, they made it sound like a holiday hike. I was tricked! Deceived!" He shook his fist accusingly at the snowy plains, the last light of the day turning them a faintly orange-rose color as the sun dipped under the horizon. In Émeran, Émeraude was somebody- would have become somebody- but now look at him, talking to himself, and he was probably going to die out here in the northern end of nowhere. What he wouldn't give to feel the warmth of the southern sun once more, to sit at the bank of the river Ryndall and dip his feet in the clear, fast flowing waters as the birds chittered in the trees overhead, but what he missed most ta the moment was the food. Oh the food! All manner of sweet meats, fruits and vegetables. Fresh, pickled, sweet, savory, fried, dried, boiled or mashed. Émeraude loved it all, and so with his head filled with thoughts of home and his stomach filled with grumbling , Émeraude curled up in a piece of moose hide that he'd procured at the start of his journey and went to sleep.

It was eventide. Émeraude had been up since before sunup. He'd had some snow, cold of course. The embers from the previous night's fire had frozen over. Having had his 'breakfast', Émeraude trudged along at the fastest pace that his weakened body allowed, which was not fast at all