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She has come within sight of the area the camp had been ambushed, burnt corpses smoldering in the distance. Rothun quivers beneath her rider, at a walk now, and avoids going down the trail nearest to the camp. The rogue understands that the thick scent of rotting death unnerves her mount, she allows the mare to continue. By now it is noon though and her stomach rumbles its defiance. Finch frowns at her stomach, the patched mare turns her head with her ears perked in curiosity. With a sigh the woman urges Rothun onward.
"Nay my gentle lady, we are nearly to the hills which are our first resting spot."
The only reply is a burr and a high tossing of the grand vanner's head which flares up her creamy mane. Snickering slightly, Finch pats Rothun's neck gratefully and pushes her mount into a brisk trot as she stares ahead. The hills vary in size and steepness, with numerous bushes and a few thin trees sprouted from the ground. No doubtly wild animals resided in tiny caves as well.
Wild animals to hunt and eat. Perhaps I'll catch myself a juicy hare.
Getting spooked by a sudden bugle from a distant stag, the large horse goes into a hobbling canter. The rogue grips the horn of the saddle with her right hand and has her left hand gathers the worn leather reins into its palm. Her brown eyes watch the blur of ground beneath Rothun's hooves that seem to drift thanks to the thick strands of fur hanging from the tops of them. Light brown, flashes of green, gray rocks and the mare's white hooves make a mesmerizing combination. Shaking her head slightly, Finch is sure to keep her body melded with Rothun’s as though her lower half were an extension of the saddle. Her wide hips move with the saddle, body slowly slinking to the grand vanner’s gait. Once they have neared the base of the hills the rogue eases her mount to stop. The woman dismounts and stretches her legs and arms before opening one of the saddlebags. One of the leather bags is used to store found treasures, the other holds the few items the officially belong to Finch. A folded and fading map of Valineer, a palm-sized orcania which was a gift from Hawk on her tenth birthday, water canteen, small wooden box with some fish hooks in it, and a long bit of twine for making snares, or fishing. Removing the twine the rogue goes through a short deer trail between a few hills and squats down in the bushes. She finds a thick stem of one of the bushes and fastens one end of the twine, loosely tying the other on the thin rope itself to fashion a loop and set that on the ground well hidden by the dry grass. Jogging away from her set trap for a meal, the rogue returns to her horse and undoes the saddle cinch, catching the heavy saddle in her arms and setting it down. As Finch walks to Rothun’s head and begins to remove the reins, she notices that it is close to sundown. Nearly an hour away and this meant that she might not eat until next sunrise.

Ach, I forgot to store that tree I chopped down...mmm. No matter, Untas will no doubtly do that for me once he sees the chopping ax I left behind.
A few small boulders had been gathered in a little ring to hold in a bundled gathering of wood from nearby logs. Two stones were used to start a roaring fire as the sun sank behind the rogue in the west, she herself facing east towards the hills that would bring her to her brother within late tomorrow, or even a few more days. Finch is standing to help coax her legs to rest from riding in the saddle. She removes her bear helm and tosses it to land behind the horned saddle, on top of the plopped reins. With hands on hips, the woman stares at the wavering flames. The crackling fire blends with the venturing crickets, Rothun's grazing nearby and the occasional hoot of an owl. Burning wood smoke coils around her from before being tossed south by a breeze. Her mind wanders easily now during the tranquil twilight. Will the wild Durchauss siblings recognize one another on sight? Would Finch even be able to locate Hawk through any aggressive barbarians? Chewing at her lower lip, she bites down too hard as a sudden yelping surprises her. The copper-tasting, red liquid trickles into her mouth and tickles the surface of her tongue, causing her to scowl slightly before jogging off to check on the snare with her sheathed sword bouncing and clasped over her upper and mid back. A lone wolf has gotten a front leg caught, it is now gnawing at the twine and whimpering. It stops struggling once it hears the woman nearby, lowering its body to start growling. Brown eyes darkening, the rogue withdraws her sword.
"You are not a hare, but you are better than nothing. Wretched hound."
Without hesitation Finch lunges at the brown wolf, raising the glinting sword over her left shoulder to swing it down swiftly. The sword gives a shrill whistle as the wolf jerks back, only to have it's jugular cut open. She wipes the tip of her blade clean in the grass then sheathes it and kneels, untying the bleeding animal's leg. Gathering the twine, she grasps the weakly flailing wolf's previously snared leg to drag it off back to her fire. Rothun's ears are perked as she watches her rider sit down with a loathed wolf. The woman carefully carves the wild hound, it has died by now. It takes her twenty minutes or so to ease off the upper jaw and head, also the pelt. She hacks off the paws to keep for some random future use. Finch cuts the rest of the body up to cook, finding nearby sticks to sink in the ground and roast the meat on the other end.

(( I'm still here, I'm not sure Babbulabi is still with the clan, we should elect a new host, but I reaaaaaallllly do want this rp to live, I love large scale rps, especially when they have maps.))

((I rped him tonight already, but the more he gets pmed, the more he'll be tempted to return. Its a little unfortunate, but most of this threads participants aren't seemingly active anymore.))

The thunder and lightening overheard seem to match the clanging of weapons, rain plummeting down in icy layers. Bellows and whinnies show equal fear as well as determination to win among the warriors and horses. Finch has lost track of Rothun, she now fights on foot whilst whistling and calling for her hoofed child. All around the flustered rogue men fall to either get up to attack, or they never rise. A big man with long, greasy blonde hair lunges before her wearing a bearskin and armed with twin axes. He gives a battle cry before starting to swipe at the shorter figure whom veers backwards in a zigzag pattern. Finch knows the oaf may catch on, no matter how barbaric he seems. She waits until both of his arms are lowered slightly and just bending at the elbows to launch another attach. Seeing the opening, she somersaults her body to the side. Strong legs extending below her form allow her to arch her left arm, driving her silver shortsword up the lower left half of the man's back, protruding out of his abdomen slightly. Giving a cry he attempts to reach back to ensnare the small female. With a scoffing sound, Finch sees this and raises her right knee, points her bear paw boot's claws at the other's leg and straightens out her own. This causes him to cry out, his achilles tendon torn which causes him to start dropping to the reddish, muddy ground with a profound splat. His mass and her arm strength allow for her sword to remain wielded if not bloody, in her spiked fist. Amidst the falling bodies and wicked cries, Finch turns to the sound of her mare's whinny. Rothun pummels through the mass of the armor and unarmored, adding a few more injuries to the few already along her patched coat. Hopping on the wide mare the rogue looks to a nearby pair of warriors fighting as Rothun begins to charge among the enemy. A tan and built man with little armor has a staff in his grasp. At the top is the skull of some very large bird, Finch would not be surprised if it were a gryphon's. Along with his long cape of feathers, the man wears a unique accessory on his wavy mane of dark brown hair, curling tendrils at his shoulders. The head of a big breed of hawk it would seem has been fastened over him so it would appear the decapitated and dead bird's eyes were his own. From over the dry hills, a sudden roar sounds that makes a few of the warriors freeze as well as the horses. The noise is too thin to be bear or mountain lion, the ground has begun to quake as more opposing Nomads stream over the hills.
A shrill neigh causes Finch Durchauss to waken quickly and sit up straight, it did not take much to wake her. She looks to the gypsy vanner in worry that there is danger before sunrise here. No danger though, just Rothun going berserk on...oh drat, on the wolf hide left out to dry! The rogue sighs, she had been planning on giving the pelt to her brother. Finch watches a bit more as the mare, ears flat back on her skull, seizes the pelt in her flat, broad teeth and hurls it up in the air to run from it, then turn around and charge at it again once it hit the ground. Her mount never showed mercy to predators, not even when they are dead. Spotting a nearby pond in the growing light of the pale-orange sky the rogue goes to it and kneels, washing her face as well as running damp fingers through her curly hair. Feeling some pressure in her lower abdomen, Finch scurries to nearby sparse bushes to relieve herself. After doing so she rinses off her hands by habit in the pond and whistles to Rothun.
"Come now, that fur is nearly new thread from your treatment!"
Perking her ears at her rider's voice, the heavy horse trots over and allows her riding gear to be strapped back on. Making sure the cinch is tight, the woman mounts her patched mare and urges her into the hills.

A few hours after the sun had risen and trudging along the hills the wanderers come upon a rather rocky terrain. Not wanting to risk having Rothun get a lame gait, Finch dismounts and holds onto her horse's rein to lead her. The sun is not very high and so the morning air is still chilled, but not so as to produce clouds of breath from the living. In the few trees and bushes small birds begin to chirp, a morning choir of sorts that soothes Finch. Tufts of dry grass waver due to some fleeing caribou, hares, field mice and the flitting birds. Everything is very peaceful out here as opposed to the noisy villages to the west. A sudden howling from somewhere, as the tone is resonating in the air and cannot be detected, causes Rothun to quiver and burr in a nervous manner.
"Ushshushsh...xush dil, ushsh...easy now Milady..."
The nonsense words and relaxed voice of the rogue convinces the mare to take it easy. Perhaps the wolf from last night had not been a lone wolf after all. Finch kicks aside a few medium rocks out of the chosen path and raises her brown eyes to spot a tall figure ahead that seemed place atop a pedestal of sorts. Arching a brow in curiosity the rogue heads straight for it. Getting closer she realizes it is a roughly carved statue of an antlered man accompanied by three large stags.
This must be some sort of Nomadic deity...the clans cannot be too far off then.
Such a pleasant thought has her steps become lighter as she spots a granite dome with a soapstone altar in the middle, it's shape a bowl. Stairs leading up to the altar are bordered by clay vases of wilting flowers, the bowl holds colorful cosmos flowers and some odd roots. Finch notes thin trail around the shrine that show active worship. The rogue of course is not a religious woman nor are rogues usually religious. She strictly believes in her horse, her weapons and luck to get her through things. Passing the shrine does she mount Rothun once more to gallop up a grassy hill.