Adventurers,

You settle in for the night and rest in Mountain's Toe Gold Mine. Do you wish to do anything else before your long rest? Feel free to post it. 

 The morning comes early as you're stirred awake in the hushed stillness of the mine. A faint earthy scent of dust and old metal hangs in the air, causing your throat to feel parched as you rise. The sound of snoring dwarves finds your ears.  Somewhere deeper in the mine, a drop of water echoes with an eerie regularity. The armored among you begin to don it in preparation for the day's trials. As you step out into the cold morning air, frost crunches beneath your feet. The world beyond is cloaked in fog and pale moonlight. Rolling hills lie in shadow, and the looming snowcapped mountain to your south and east gives you all a sense of foreboding in its enormity.

The cold bites through your cloaks, sharp and clean, waking you up completely. Felagi lets out a squawk, beating his wings from his perch atop Zephyros' heavily armored shoulder. The horizon to the east glows faintly, a thin ribbon of pale gold where the sun has yet to rise.

What do you do? Do you set out back to Phandalin to find a cure for Don-Jon? Or do you make haste to Buttleskull Ranch to deal with the growing Orcish threat?

As her final task before sleeping, Meira settles into a spot near the wall where she can prop herself up.  She takes her dulcimer in hand and starts to pluck the strings. Soon she starts a light melody, then switches to accompanying chords as she softly sings: 

'Hey Ho to my resting I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe
Rain may fall and wind may blow but there'll still be
Many miles to go

Sweet is the sound of falling rain,
and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
but better than rain or rippling streams
is Water Hot that smokes and steams.'

The next morning, she gets her things together and prepares to leave. "On to Butterskull Ranch?"

There is a moment of sheer tension in which Lyra truly believes Torrin is going to murder Don-Jon. She holds her breath, heart racing ... but fortunately, Boggin restrains his companion before anything rash can happen. The halfling exhales in relief as the moment passes, and when the situation is finally sorted out, she allows herself to relax.

Lyra finds a spot to sit with her friends and listens as Meira begins to play. The melody is soft and soothing, and Lyra can't help but smile. "Your new goggles look amazing on you!" she says cheerfully, before turning her attention to Felagi, curious about the impressive bird. It's rather amusing to realize that while Felagi only reaches about thigh-height on the others, he nearly comes up to her waist!

When the time comes to lie down and sleep, Lyra brushes her fingers against the lucky moonstone and closes her eyes. She offers a quiet prayer: for her friends to be safe. For those who died—dwarves, ratfolk, or otherwise—to find peace. For Don-Jon's safety. Even for the orcs they found on the road... and for the dragon that may have killed them to stay hidden. At least a little longer. She knows she's asking a lot, but she keeps her hopes up. It wouldn't be Lyra Brightspark if she didn’t.

The next day, the little cleric wakes up fully rested, bids farewell to Don-Jon and the dwarves, and nods to Meira. "To Butterskull Ranch!", she replies.

Gareth falls asleep to the sound of Meira's clear voice and soft dulcimer. He dreams of Sylvie, back home in Neverwinter. Their home is a small but tidy townhouse in the city's Protector's Enclave. In the dream, Sylvie is in the kitchen kneading dough and humming softly to herself. The ranger tries to get her attention, but he's formless in the dream, like he's looking in at Sylvie from the outside. He's looking at her from behind so he approaches, but it isn't like walking, more like gliding along on an unseen track. As he nears his wife, he notices a slight swell underneath her apron, her belly just starting to round. As if she can sense his presence or read his mind, Sylvie presses a hand to her stomach, rubbing it absently and still humming to herself. 

Gareth awakens with a jerk, nearly falling off the cot. He swipes a hand across his face. It was just a dream. Dreams don't mean anything. Still, he's feeling a bit off-kilter as he gathers his pack and slings his longbow on his back. Distracted, he forgets to bid farewell to the dwarves and Don Jon. He tells himself to focus. The people at Butterskull Ranch need their help.

"To Butterskull Ranch!" he agrees. "I just hope we're not too late."

Zephyros,

Zephyros startles awake in cold sweat, strangely getting up after his allies have.

The warrior grumbles as he sluggishly crawls off his cot, hoping no one has caught him sleeping in, let alone suspecting something wrong has happened.

His Red-Tailed Hawk, Felagi screeches beside him, waiting for his master to arise. Zephyros is grateful to have this interruption.

Ironheart quietly mutters, his low voice strained, "To the ranch."

Zephyros' eyes are fully stocked with great sorrow, though it's easy to mistake it for exhaustion.

Having much practice, the veteran quickly shakes off his demeanor, grips his trident, and prepares to set out.

 18

 Adventurers,

You set out early in the morning for Butterskull Ranch. Even as the sun rises and provides light, the air remains frigid cold and bites to the bone. You travel fifteen miles north before you come to a well-worn road called the Tribor Trail. While the sun is overhead, you turn east and continue traveling under the canopy of think cloud cover. A light snow begins to fall. It is odd at this elevation and time of year as the trees leaves are just starting to change color.

Everyone, please give me a perception check.

Lyra's perception: 7

(Meira Perception: 15)