Fraevon and Rohlen sat hunched atop the caravan, the morning rain having a decidedly colder bite to it than of late. The oxen trudged onward at their usual steady lumbersome pace.
“The icy fingers of Winter’s touch grip a little tighter,” mused Fraevon, pulling the blanket around him a little tighter.
“Aye. I’ve forgotten what it was like to have the warmth of the sun caress my cheeks,” replied Rohlen. “The sooner we find an inn or tavern the better.”
“You’ll not find the sun in there my friend!”
“No, but I’ll find something that will make me forget about the rain.”
“Do you think…..” Fraevon quickly rethought his question, instead reverting to silence.
“Do I think what?”
“Nothing. I was merely speculating.”
“Speculating? You mean, ‘Do you think I think Jax will have buried my sister so he may rejoin us soon?'” Rohlen paused and looked out towards the distant horizon. “I sense she is not yet at rest, and yet I have faith that he will do right by her. Do right by us.”
“Of course he will. He loved her.”
Rohlen snapped a stare back at the elf, his expression one that was full of distaste for the comment offered.
“Love! What did they know of love!”