Questions were always lingering within his mind, searching for answers, gnawing at Fenric's conscience while he marched through the frigid forests of Gloomrot. There were no directions followed as the man kicked up fresh snow along the way, nor were there places he called home anymore. Icy winds blew sharp into his squinted dry eyes, vision barely shielded by the tattered hood hanging over the top of his head. Every single step Fenric took felt heavier than the one before, but he couldn't stop here, not now. It was only a matter of time before the Lothar Knights caught up to him. He knew that was inevitable. But he wasn't going to make it any easier. The raging blizzard had presented itself as both an opportunity and a death sentence, so Fenric took that risk, hoping it'd shake hunters off from his trail.
His limbs were numbed by the time he arrived in front of a shallow cave; It was dark and dank, semi frozen with a thin layer of ice on the floor. Gnarled, twisted tree roots hung free from the dirt above, and there was barely any space for the half-Eronidas to squeeze himself into. For most folks it wasn't ideal to camp, but there weren't any other better options for Fenric. So in he crawled and curled up on the grimy ground, all on his lonesome without a single soul around for miles.
For once it was silent. It was just him, and his thoughts. A part of Fenric contemplated if there was at least some worth to his efforts. He knew he was losing, but he wanted to know if he had already lost.
