One ambush is more than enough excitement for one night and with increased vigilance for what remains of the darkness, the last hours before dawn pass quietly.
The morning breaks grey with the cloud cover still casting a pall over the dale. At least the rain has stopped, for the time being anyway. The journey north is uneventful as your horses bear you stoically across the landscape. Around highsun the village of Goldfields comes properly into view from atop a viewpoint. Farms fan out from the centre and a handful of lakes lie north of the village proper, fed by springs below the ground.
From your vantage point it’s an easy downhill trot for quarter of an hour into the village as a weak sun vaguely threatens to break through.
Joreld stands quietly behind the inquisitor. His night clothes marked with his own blood, but glad he was alive.
Ialia wakes worse for wear, but dry, thanks to the sturdy canvas tent. Basil is sleeping directly above her, hanging from the cross stick, its nose nearly touching hers. It was times like this that she thought about how fond she is of the bat, beyond how important it is to her magic.
Her chest smarts from the wound but her pride was too great to complain, and Joreld had busied himself with the graves while she was in the sky.
This morning she bestows a Cure Light Wounds spell on Basil and uses it promptly, completely healing the wound. Later she'll bother Samara to mend her clothing once again.
The disruption of sleep causes her to be tired on the ride, but she knows from her flight how far the road is to Goldfields, so she is prepared for the half day travel. When they stop at the overlook she dismounts and gives Fennelseed a good scratch behind the ears.