[Isalynne]

From the hilltop, she can see the mist, draped over the sleeping city like a sheet.

The fire crackles, its flames casting dancing shadows over the dewy grass. When she holds her hands out to warm them, they tingle, too close to the scorching heat – but it’s a relief, a welcome sensation in numb flesh. It’s too cold to be sitting out in the open. Rain on the biting breeze threatens to take from her what she has worked so hard to set up; her palms are chafed from the rough edges of flint. It is no surprise to her, however. No misfortune comes as much of a shock anymore.

[Isalynne]

She heaves a sigh and draws her cloak closer around her narrow shoulders. How long has she been settled in one spot, watching the buildings and the mist and the sky from afar? Dawn is now breaking, in all its optimistic radiance. A stirring sun peers from the hazy border of the horizon. The clouds above her persist with their drizzle, but so comes the light anyway, fingers creeping over the land to take hold.

[Isalynne]

At some point, she will have to make her way down into the streets. They are expecting her arrival, no matter how much she laments it. As if demanding her departure, the droplets on the wind become more persistent, beginning to pelt her hood and her exposed hands with icy rain.

“I’m going,” She whispers, to no one in particular, like it might help. “I’m going, okay?”

The rain will take care of the campfire for her.

[Isalynne]

The descent is a calm one, at least, despite the rain. She can tell climbing from this angle would have been far more difficult, and is grateful she was able to gently ascend from the other side. Loose rubble skitters away from the path of her boots, but she keeps her footing. As long as she reaches the bottom before the rock has a chance to become slick with water, she will be fine, and safe to continue her journey.

[Isalynne]

She lucks out, for a change. The ground is firm beneath her feet before the rock becomes perilous. In fact, scared into submission by the emerging sun, the rain eases, first to a drizzle, and then to nothing but a whisper on the wind. It is nearly forgotten by the time she reaches the city outskirts.

There are patrolling officers at the gates - or so she assumes, with their uniforms, and the weapons hanging at their sides. It isn't visitors that they are bothered with, because she slips through unnoticed.

[Isalynne]

No one is out, yet. Would they be, with the loitering mist sending them into the throes of blind panic, even if it wasn't an unsociable hour? There is no way to tell. She knows nothing about the inhabitants of the city. It is a strange location for her, a long way from her comforting seaside home.

When she received the letter requesting her appearance, a location had been described within it. Finding it should be easy; there is, apparently, a very noticeable landmark sat in front.

[Isalynne]

She can smell bread being baked. Her stomach lurches with hunger - when was the last time she ate solid carbohydrates like that? Perhaps she can pop into a shop, to grab a roll or a cake.

Pale eyes scan the area, discerning. As expected, the majority of stores are locked tight, their owners not yet roused from sleep. She's on the tail end of giving up when she sees light glowing from one; the bright awning proclaims that it is a bakery. Wonderful.

[Isalynne]

Her pocket jingles with change when she slips her hand into it in preparation before entering the store. Immediately, she is struck with warmth and delicious aromas. She sighs. In that instant, the chill and ache of wandering through the night is chased from her bones.

"Yes, miss?" A voice startles her, though she should have been expecting it. A stern-looking gentleman stands behind the counter, one bushy brow quirked towards his hairline. "Can I help?"

[Isalynne]

"Bread," She says, simply. The man almost cracks a smile at her lack of eloquence. "I.. could do with a loaf of bread, sir, please."

"Certainly."

She watches him as he wraps a bag around a loaf and places it in front of her. The coins she fishes out glimmer in the low light - he does not give verbal confirmation of the price, just gives a grunt of assent when she has the right change to give to him.

[Isalynne]

She's sure she looks like a savage when she steps outside the door and immediately takes a ripping bite from the end of the loaf, but no one is around to judge her for it. No one except a stray cat, perched on the windowsill of the building opposite. It regards her with sickly yellow eyes.

"Are you hungry too?" She asks. It flicks its tail and meows, pitiful. "You wouldn't like to eat bread. I don't have meat."

[Isalynne]

It looks friendly enough. She approaches, but remains wary; felines are changeable. At least it doesn't dive at her when she reaches the windowsill. In fact, it rubs its head against her hip.

"Okay," She murmurs. It meows again, and stares pointedly at her loaf. "Really? I didn't think you would want to.."

It isn't like some bread is going to poison it. She tears off a small piece and holds it out to the cat, and it reaches for it immediately, making short work of it.

"Alright."

[Isalynne]

She supposes she doesn't need to eat the whole loaf. The cat is looking at her in such a miserable sort of way, blinking in scarce, lethargic movements, that she can't imagine keeping it all to herself. They are friends, now. In whatever way an animal can display camaraderie, she believes that the cat is showing it.

Another bite is ripped off for it to take. Its eyes look brighter, somehow. The yellow is beginning to bring the thoughts of buttercups rather than of bile.

[Isalynne]

"Don't you have a home to go to?" The girl asks. "You know everyone is huddled in, because it's early and the mist is around."

The cat mewls and leans up on its back feet to paw at the bread. Without blinking an eye, she acquiesces to its request, and feeds it again.

"I have somewhere to be," She says. It chews a hard bit of crust and doesn't seem to be listening (not that it would comprehend, regardless). "I have to go now."

[Isalynne]

She wraps the remainder of the bread back into its bag, and sets off along the street again, keeping an eye out for the fountain that had been described in her letter. It would be impossible to miss it, should she be going in the right direction.

Even knowing nothing of its history, she finds herself excited to see it.

What she doesn't realise at first is that she has unintentionally added a member to her party. The cat trots a few feet behind her, its tail aloft.

[Isalynne]

The streets are straightforward, at least. There are no winding roads and side alleys to confuse her - one block leads to another, in pleasing square sectors, making it simple to memorise the route. As the morning rears its head further over the town, life is breathed into it, and throbs of people appear every so often to brush past her.

Still, the cat follows, unbeknownst to her.

Soon enough, she can hear the tinkle of water.