eyes in the dark

As she spoke, Jorah tossed the bones into the firepit and slung his pack over his shoulder.

Well, if you ever want to sit on a warm and pretty beach for a handful of days, and take a break from testing your luck, let me know. It is the country for it, and I will welcome you in my country, he sighed, taking in the dawnlit trail ahead of them. He hoped she considered it. She had been through so much, but she seemed the sort of woman to stay busy and avoid thinking of it all, just like he was.

Then, he saw in the distance nestled in the pit between two mountains little brown rooftops and small cleared meadows. No smoke trailed from the chimneys. Just a cluster of houses, unidentifiable of purpose.

Do you see that village down there? I didn't see it last night through the dark. You don't suppose there are people in it?

A personal welcome from a lowly Crow? She asked, a hint of derision barely veiled in her tone. Whether it was her inability to want to relax or the fact that she'd never seen a beach - or both - Rylee couldn't help but hate the idea.

Even if it was more the fact she didn't know what it was, she wasn't going to ask or reveal such things. It was bad enough he'd cracked even a microcosm of her emotional barrier the evening before.

She'd managed to not get herself too far ahead of him yet as they resumed their trek. Glancing over as he observed the rooftops in the distance. Shifting her gaze back, she let out a sigh. I would not get my hopes up, were I you. She pulled one of her daggers off her back, continuing along their path. Stay on your guard, it could be overrun.

Ideally she'd want to avoid it, but that would take too much time. Time she was not willing to give over to the shem. Not one more moment than need be.

@Jorah Mesonero

At this point, Jorah interpreted her derision as a healthy challenge. The flirt chuckled as they made their way. He sang softly:

The lady can't bear the sunlight,
Nor the sweet smell of flowers six.
For the lady loves nothing more
Than a trite problem's Orlesian fix.

(It's to the tune of the mexican hat dance.)

He continued the silly diddy of The Lady who Doth Protest, tossing his blade casually, returning to his usual ways with the warmth of the fresh day. As they stepped into the ruddy dirt street, his song fell away.

A large stone-walled community center was surrounded by a handful of half-burned thatch huts. Jorah hesitated. Do you smell that, warden? Is that... he muttered, holding the words unspoken, for the scent of decaying human flesh is a uniquely jarring odor that strikes revulsion to the core.