Tana dropped to the ground, shivering against the chilled, early winter breeze on her naked skin. The drow had helped her gather her positions, but in their dash to escape the collapsing lichdom there hadn’t been time for her to dress, and as she did so now she listened as her rescuers debated their options. “We’ve no food and little water,” Faeryl reported with a concerned tone, scanning the rocky hillside and the tundra below. The sporadic clumps of pines and brush spoke of potential water sources, and she could see a small river in the distance, but most of the game would have retreated into the Moonwood for the winter so the chances of finding food was remote at best. “If my bearings are right, Mithral Hall lies as couple days march to the southeast,” Tarl offered, his voice carrying less enthusiasm for visiting his home than the others would have expected. He had left without his father’s blessing, and knew he could only return a hero or face the penalty under dwarven law. “There’s something due west,” Nykira squinted into the distance, shading her eyes with her hand as even her sharp, elven vision strained to detect what appeared to be man-made shapes. “That’s Winter Edge,” Tana chimed in with a clear Moonsea accent as she laced closed her vest. Even Tarl had been respectful enough to avert his eyes while she dressed, for the most part, but now that she was decent the companions turned their attention to her. “Winter Edge?” Galen asked, as he appraised her. She was young, little more than a girl, probably just come of age, and quite pretty, with coppery hair and a fit build. “My home,” she answered as she pulled on her boots, looking up at the strange quintet that had rescued her from the lich’s living hell. “It’s less than a day’s walk from here.” “That’s one of the Zhent’s settlements,” Aeron informed the others as he too took stock of the young woman. Her damaran accent confirmed her Moonsea roots, but even if she was one of the immigrants from Zhentil Keep, she was too young to have served the infamous “Black Network”. “What of it,” Tana challenged with fire in his eyes as she shot to her feet and faced him defiantly. “We have the right to settle here… No one else claimed the land!” “Easy girl,” Aeron tried to appease her with more than a touch of amusement in his voice and smile. She barely stood to his chin, but looked ready to take them all on with nothing but her bare hands. “I didn’t mean to imply anything more then it’s a recently established settlement. I’ve nothing against your people... From what I’ve heard of Zhentil Keep, I’d want to find a new home as far away from it as I could as well.” Tana glared at him a moment, then looked about at the others and banked down her temper, which her father had always said was as fiery as her hair. She should be thanking them for saving her from a fate worse than death, not being belligerent… but she wasn’t about to back down completely: “Very well then. But I’m not a girl! My name is Tana Marsk…. They call me Tana the red!"