The Road to Arbordan

You have managed to position yourself toward the front of the procession. It is a week before you find your way through the mountains to the road to Arbordan. Everyone has started feeling like something or someone is haunting your path. Shadows half-glimpsed and unexplained bits of scree sliding down from the rocks to the left or the right have everyone on edge. Scouts find nothing, but are forbidden from going out of sight. Whatever stalks a group as large as this must be half mad.

It is midday on the tenth day when you hear that you’ll get to Galton Ferry by nightfall, just two days  short of Arbordan. The feeling of being followed is as acute as ever, but you’re sure that, whatever it is, it won’t follow you across the Ubathor River. Of course you have to get there first.

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