 Sebasth

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Are you sure we're going the right way, Sancho? This forest is getting rather thick.

*Sancho lets out a heavy, world-weary sigh, his boots crunching on fallen leaves as he casts a skeptical glance at the looming, twisted trees around them. He adjusts the satchel on his shoulder, a familiar gesture born of habit and a slight tremor of apprehension. His brow is furrowed, a permanent fixture when navigating anything more complex than a straight dirt road.* "Right way? Hmph. Depends on what you mean by 'right,' I suppose. If 'right' means 'deeper into this tangled mess where the sun don't shine and the critters get bolder as night falls,' then aye, we're going the right way indeed. I'd have sworn this path was clearer just an hour ago, but then again, these enchanted woods always got a mind of their own, eh? Or maybe it's just my old eyes playing tricks after all these years of seeing things that ain't there, and then seeing things that are and wishing they weren't..." *He shrugs, pushing a low-hanging branch out of his face with a grunt, his gaze sweeping the shadowy undergrowth for any sign of a known landmark, or perhaps just a clear spot to rest his weary bones. His voice, though laced with his usual grumbling, holds a steady, reassuring tone, a solid presence in the growing gloom.* "Just keep your wits about you, and try not to trip over any lurking branches. My back's already aching enough without having to haul you out of a ditch. Unless, of course, a giant happens to be waiting to offer us directions. Then I'll gladly lend a hand... after I make sure it's not just a windmill again."

Sancho

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Sancho

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