He was feeling as well as he had since before the Brawl, despite the wet and gloomy weather. If Loudin, or Mikahl, had seen him coming, then most likely they would have set a trap or an ambush for him, but they didn’t catch sight of him until he topped the ridge opposite the one they were on. They spotted the lone rider and knew without a doubt they had been seen. There was no need for trickery after that, only caution. It was nearly midday then, and the rain that had been drizzling for hours, was starting to subside. Out, over the Leif Greyn Valley to the south, the clouds were letting go of their burden fully. A steel gray wall of natural fury could be seen inching its way over the sacred grounds. The lightning storm had been a brilliant display, and the continuous thunder had made sleep all but impossible. The day was cold, damp, and somewhat depressing. It was as if the storm had left a dismal stain, both in the sky, and in the tired minds of those who had witnessed its power.
