You learn to recognise danger as you mature, even in the most remote places. An unfamiliar land will automatically have you on your guard. The barrenness of the landscape could make you believe there's nothing there except the dangers of nature but in the back of your mind there's always the thought of the unnatural.
Despite being prepared for the ice-cold water, Safa gasped several times as he sprung clear from the boat onto the dark, gravel beach. Before boarding the boat, he'd taken off his boots and socks and rolled up the bottom of his trousers to keep his clothes dry. He had placed these items in his travelling pack and tied the lower part of his cloak around his waist so it wouldn’t dip into the water.
Icy pain filled his toes and his leg muscles cramped, but he had no intention of staying in the water any longer than necessary. Cursing under his breath he swiftly skipped out of the shallow waves and onto the dry beach before a gust of icy raw wind suddenly stroked past him, tugging at his clothing and leaving him chilled. It was colder than he expected.
"Wretched place!" he muttered as his dark eyes briefly searched the view for the hunter’s camp. He set down his pack and removed his footwear, dressing swiftly, at least it had remained dry and he would soon be warm again. He took a brief glance towards the others, noting his companion secured the boat. Too small a party to go searching for people, he thought. Not enough volunteers had come forward, they were either too busy or too frightened. He noticed that there were fewer adventurers due to the ongoing war. Many had volunteered to become soldiers, others were unwilling and were forced. After decades of peace, the people of his own country now guard their borders as the fighting had spilled into their territory.
As long as there are people who profit from war, it is impossible to achieve peace.
They had volunteered to search for a group of priests who had not returned from an expedition. The priests had been missing for over a week. It was not the first time the priests had visited the island, several trips had been made before and they had mentioned their findings. He tied the laces of his knee-high boots and sighed, feeling more comfortable. He glanced again over his shoulder and watched a plume of smoke billowing faintly in the distance, it was possibly the hunters or the fisherman's camp.
Despite being prepared for the ice-cold water, Safa gasped several times as he sprung clear from the boat onto the dark, gravel beach. Before boarding the boat, he'd taken off his boots and socks and rolled up the bottom of his trousers to keep his clothes dry. He had placed these items in his travelling pack and tied the lower part of his cloak around his waist so it wouldn’t dip into the water.
Icy pain filled his toes and his leg muscles cramped, but he had no intention of staying in the water any longer than necessary. Cursing under his breath he swiftly skipped out of the shallow waves and onto the dry beach before a gust of icy raw wind suddenly stroked past him, tugging at his clothing and leaving him chilled. It was colder than he expected.
"Wretched place!" he muttered as his dark eyes briefly searched the view for the hunter’s camp. He set down his pack and removed his footwear, dressing swiftly, at least it had remained dry and he would soon be warm again. He took a brief glance towards the others, noting his companion secured the boat. Too small a party to go searching for people, he thought. Not enough volunteers had come forward, they were either too busy or too frightened. He noticed that there were fewer adventurers due to the ongoing war. Many had volunteered to become soldiers, others were unwilling and were forced. After decades of peace, the people of his own country now guard their borders as the fighting had spilled into their territory.
As long as there are people who profit from war, it is impossible to achieve peace.
They had volunteered to search for a group of priests who had not returned from an expedition. The priests had been missing for over a week. It was not the first time the priests had visited the island, several trips had been made before and they had mentioned their findings. He tied the laces of his knee-high boots and sighed, feeling more comfortable. He glanced again over his shoulder and watched a plume of smoke billowing faintly in the distance, it was possibly the hunters or the fisherman's camp.
"Viti ek að þetta sé eyja? Hún er ekki svo sorgleg og hræðileg." He cast a rapid glance over the scenery, his eyes locked onto the sight of the majestic black mountains topped with icy caps, all enveloped in an atmosphere of frigid desolation.
Hrosskell, with great determination, strived to retain his balance in the vessel, for he was still unfamiliar with the ways of the sea. Nonetheless, as he watched the dark Tymacherin male execute rapid and precise moves, an overwhelming desire flooded within him to overcome his fear of water. With great patience, he stood there, eagerly anticipating the boat's gradual approach towards the shoreline, but as he finally disembarked, an unmistakable and attention-grabbing splash occurred, soaking his boots completely and splattering against his face. Luckily, he had taken great care to tightly secure his cloak to his belt, ensuring that it was tightly fastened. Furthermore, his backpack was firmly affixed to his back with strong straps, allowing it to remain securely in place. With unwavering determination, Hrosskell vowed to maintain his equilibrium, fearing the dreadful prospect of plunging into the freezing waters below, particularly due to the relentless struggle of his feet to secure a firm grip on the ever-shifting obsidian grains of sand.
In a valiant effort to aid Cynewolf, Hrosskell clutched onto the edge of the vessel with firmness, sensing the icy waters forcefully striking his fingertips, inducing a frigid numbness upon them.
Hrosskell, with great determination, strived to retain his balance in the vessel, for he was still unfamiliar with the ways of the sea. Nonetheless, as he watched the dark Tymacherin male execute rapid and precise moves, an overwhelming desire flooded within him to overcome his fear of water. With great patience, he stood there, eagerly anticipating the boat's gradual approach towards the shoreline, but as he finally disembarked, an unmistakable and attention-grabbing splash occurred, soaking his boots completely and splattering against his face. Luckily, he had taken great care to tightly secure his cloak to his belt, ensuring that it was tightly fastened. Furthermore, his backpack was firmly affixed to his back with strong straps, allowing it to remain securely in place. With unwavering determination, Hrosskell vowed to maintain his equilibrium, fearing the dreadful prospect of plunging into the freezing waters below, particularly due to the relentless struggle of his feet to secure a firm grip on the ever-shifting obsidian grains of sand.
In a valiant effort to aid Cynewolf, Hrosskell clutched onto the edge of the vessel with firmness, sensing the icy waters forcefully striking his fingertips, inducing a frigid numbness upon them.
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