Rain

The rain was merciless, and cold. Fat swollen drops hammered the world below into a grey, frigid quagmire. Trees had their boughs bent low by the deluge, drooping as if shouldering some great and heavy burden. Little else grew, though patchy scrubs and want grasses clung tenaciously to life to either side of the waterlogged mud path that wound meandering across the hills like an old scar, thin, grey and faint. A lone figure trudged through the muck and the mire, methodically wrenching his feet from the sucking mud as he went. His armor weighed him down, the tattered black hauberk glistened in the rain. Each footfall seemed to sink a little deeper. The constant drumming of the freezing rain on his battered helm drowned out all thought. It was impossible to think in such a ringing cacophony, so he relied on muscle memory and instinct to continue. One foot. Then another.

	 Wrench, step.
	 Wrench, step.
	 Wrench, step

	He could no longer remember how long he had been plodding through this cold and sodden hell. Hours? Days? Had he ever done anything else? It did not matter now. All that mattered was that he move. To stop was to die. Worse, it was to fail. Fail what, he could not recall. But somehow he knew it was vital, that something great was at stake. So he did all that he could.

	 He endured, and he walked.

Time passed, as it must. The burning in his limbs slowly grew, along with a mounting leaden weight in his chest and a monstrous pressure behind his eyes. Breath came in ragged gasps, blowing great clouds of vapor from his helmet.

Drink. He needed a drink.
Drink and walk, he could do that, surely? He reached clumsily for his belt, mailed hands grabbing nothing. He stopped walking, just for a moment. Where was his skin? Nobody traveled without a waterskin. It must be in his pack. Did he have a pack?

No, distractions. Useless. Walk. Keep moving, check when the rain clears.
But the rain did not clear. It lessoned, but continued on. The endless ringing in his ears reduced to a dull pattering. Thoughts came clear and more lucidly. He peered down at his legs as he marched through the path, both covered to his knees in the frigid grey muck.

Was he wearing greaves or boots? He could not remember.

Blinking water away he focused his gaze. The mud seemed darker than before. Everything did.

The sun had to be setting, somewhere behind the roiling stormclouds. He would need to stop soon, to continue on in the dark was to invite disaster. More than he had already.

Shelter.

He needed out of this damned rain. What he wouldn't give for a fire and some hot malt beer. If he was lucky he could settle for a cold draught of water and a tree large enough to keep the worst of the rain off. As his eyes wandered he spotted the crumbling ruin of a fence at the side of the path ahead.
That boded well. Ruins could make good kindling, sometimes the roof even stayed up. As he examined the largest piece of misshapen wood jutting up from the loamy earth he took a moment to rest his weight upon it. He would regret it, he knew. Already the pains flared and demanded he stay. But he could not afford such luxury.

Surveying the horizon was as fruitful as wishing for clear skies. Rolling sodden hills and stunted trees, that was all that he could see.

Wait. There.

A streak of snaking dark grey, rising up from behind a hill before smearing away into the dark clouds!

Smoke. Fire.

He wasn't dead yet. He checked himself over while he had the chance. Fire didn't always mean hospitality. His armor was in as good a shape as could be hoped. No pack, that was a shame. But a well worn long sword was slung on his back. It's weight was a familiar and comforting burden. He eased it in it's scabbard, just in case. A thin coat of ice had been forming on it, that could have been a costly mistake. Sloppy of him to not check earlier, he couldn't afford surprises.

With mounting determination and a clearing head he turned towards the smoke and continued his march.

Like called to like, spark to flame. And he would claim this blaze no matter what stood before him.