* * *
Smaragaid set his pack down at the edge of the plateau. A bitter cold wind whirled through the trees, twisting under his cloak then sinking its teeth into his scale. He didn't shiver. Cold winds always blew in the winter, and this one had broken itself up among the trees.
It'd be stronger down below, though. He rifled through his pack and took out a simple woolen tabard. He shrugged it on, and paused to adjust it so that the symbol of House Nau shown proudly.
He checked his sword and mace, making sure that neither needed repair. He took a small vial from his pouch and rubbed it in a few nicks on the blade of his sword. They wavered slightly, and gave in to the magic of the potion. Soon, the sword gleamed in the pale morning sunlight.
The lurikeen grinned and began to hunt about for luchs.