The air of the forest was cool and damp, fragrant with moss, pine and clean wet earth. Minerva, exhausted, carried on. The foxfire, that rippled and spat, at the tip of her staff was not the usual steady light it should be. She was pushing it too far but being as far away from the valley this night was best right now. There could still be leftovers from the enemy forces that might track her.
But there was only so far, she could go.
She pulled her cloak about her in the crook of a tree, tipping her hat down.