'Did you tell them that the village east of here was burned to the ground when we passed it?' asked Tosten. If it hadn't been for Luavellet's provisions and our own woodcraft, we'd have been starving. 'They also say that they've no grain for sale, nor any other foodstuff.' 'They say they haven't seen any raiders, nor heard of any,' said Penrod when he returned. Oreg took the opportunity to wander off, exploring.

It wasn't much, but I sent Penrod to find the headman and talk to him. We stopped at a village one midafternoon for provisions. Axiel, son of the king of dwarves, watched me like a sheepdog watching his shepherd but said little. When Axiel forced him to stop, he and Penrod almost came to blows - would have, except for Bastilla's intervention. The cold damp caused an old wound in Penrod's shoulder to act up, making practice visibly painful, but he didn't allow me to release him. Tosten, as always, was the worst, seldom speaking except in answer to direct questions.

Everyone's temper was short from being constantly cold and damp. Oreg's gelding and one of the packhorses had developed hoof rot, despite the oil we used. It rained all the time - except when it hailed or sleeted. We looked for Vorsagian raiders as we neared the southern reaches of Oranstone, but only came upon a few more groups of ragged bandits and the burnt-over villages where the Vorsag had been. Several weeks into my quest, my search for glory seemed fruitless. Death is a wretched business, and rain only made it worse.

Dragon Bones by Patricia Briggs