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Heinrich Luneberg found himself terribly, irrevocably lost, on that particular evening in Whisper Forest. His horse nickered in exhaustion with each gentle tug of the reins to avoid a low-hanging branch. He would apologize to the beast later with a patch of fresh grass, but for the time being, he needed to find some semblance of shelter before the inevitable rain began to fall. The sky had been crawling with dark grey all afternoon, and it was only a matter of time, to be sure. Perhaps this was his punishment for working the mount so hard for days on end with pitiful little rest. Admittedly, he couldn't shake the feeling that he should've stopped in that old half-abandoned town he'd passed the previous day. He gripped the reins softly, the light jingle too loud in the near-silent forest.

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His horse stumbled with a snort of distress, his foreleg buckling as it dragged over a severely angled root. Heinrich cursed sharply and grabbed the saddle to leap off, stumbling a few steps as the horse went down and rolled onto its side. Its flanks heaved with panicked breathing, and Heinrich's curses shifted to gentle cooing, trying to get the beast to calm down long enough for him to get a look at its legs. "Easy, Spice, easy," he murmured, running a hand over the mare's shoulder, then down to one of her forelegs. The horse jerked and squeaked in obvious pain, and Heinrich cursed again, looking around with a dismayed look flickering in his eyes behind the mask he wore. This was bad. A horse with a broken leg was, as sad as it was, nothing more than baggage. But Spice...

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No, he wouldn't do it. Heinrich couldn't bear the thought of killing the mare here, in the middle of the forest. At the very least, he wanted to find a kinder place to do it--but perhaps he was only stalling the inevitable. Grinding his teeth behind closed lips, Heinrich straightened up, leaving the mare breathing laboriously on the forest floor. He stood up and tried to tune out the sounds of the mare struggling to get up, to follow him as he walked a few paces away. "I'll be back, I promise I'll be back," he said over his shoulder to the mare, as though it would calm her, and took off at a trotting limp through the woods, praying on his lucky stars that he'd find someone walking who could help him move the horse to a safer place.

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When he stumbled upon the cottage, he didn't know whether to curse his dulled senses for being unable to pick up on the smoke coming out of the chimney sooner, or whether to sigh in the deepest relief. Surely the person inside would be kind enough to help him with his horse. Perhaps they'd own a kinder gun to do the deed with, maybe a few shovels to dig a proper grave. That is, of course, if Spice's leg was broken, which Heinrich's brain seemed intent on focusing upon. The negativity of his thoughts never ceased to astound him, even in fortunate situations such as this.

He rushed towards the cabin as quickly as he could, thunder rumbling distantly somewhere overhead. It was a definite promise of rain. Huffing for air, he half-stumbled up to the door and gripped the metal ring of a lock, and knocked as sharply as he could.

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The woman who opened the door was a peculiar little thing, her back hunched with age and eyes small behind round little glasses. She seemed to have trouble seeing as she squinted up at the masked stranger in the doorway, reaching up to adjust her glasses a bit. Heinrich caught a small glint of fear in her eyes as she noticed the mask and gleam of eyes behind, but she folded her hands and cleared her throat. "May I help you?" she asked in a voice made achey from age.

"Madam," Heinrich greeted in the most unobtrusive voice he could. He wanted help, not to scare the woman. "I'm a traveler. My horse collapsed about a quarter of a mile back through the forest, and I fear she may have a broken leg." He paused, realizing he'd just unloaded a lot of information on the old woman, and he doubted she could hear him very well because of the mask. But that really couldn't be helped, for the time being.

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She did seem a little befuddled, after all. "Well, that... my husband, he should be coming back very soon. He's out woodcutting in the forest... I'm sure he can help you," she said, stepping back a bit as though to close the door. She rethought it, suddenly, and hiked up her skirts a little to step outside. "You said a horse was in trouble? Take me to this horse. I'm quite familiar with horses."

Heinrich blinked as the woman scuttled towards the trees on pencil-thin legs, and he smiled slightly, closing the door that she'd left slightly ajar. She was either quite brave, or a little off her head, or both. "Thank you very much, madam," he said with the friendliest chirp he could manage, following after her. "My horse, Spice, she's a ways this way--thank you, again." He passed her and carefully angled his feet to slide down the small embankment held up by tree roots, then glanced behind him as the woman stopped at the edge. "Is... something the matter?"

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"Oh, my knees, you know," the old woman dithered, smoothing out her skirt a bit and shifting, as if to turn around, glancing over her shoulder and back at the cabin and fiddling with her sleeve as it flipped in the rising blustery wind. "Oh, when did it get so rainy...? Here, you carry me. Carry me on your back, I'm certain I weigh nothing."

Heinrich blinked behind his mask, staring at the woman, then chuckled slightly, caught between exasperation and amusement. "Yes, that should be fine," he said, backing up a bit and crouching slightly, his hands clasped at his lower back to provide a foothold. After a bit of awkward struggling, she had successfully koala-clamped onto his back and shoulders, peering over the top of his hood with a nervous hum as he carefully picked his way through the brush.

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"Ohh dear dear me," the woman crooned softly, spotting the horse well before they reached her. She'd given up on trying to sit up, and instead was lying on her side, breathing slower than before. Heinrich bent down as best he could, knees creaking slightly, to let the elderly woman down. She hobbled over to the horse and shakily squatted down near its head, murmuring as she stroked its cheek. "Aren't you a pretty one... what did you do to yourself, dear?"

Heinrich watched her for a moment, then glanced away as he heard the trees creak and groan overhead in the wind. The rain was imminent, he was sure; he knew if his nose worked properly, he would be able to smell it in the air.

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"I don't believe she's broken anything," the woman piped up after a moment of gently touching and feeling of Spice's foreleg. "It hurts her, though, it certainly does, mm... a sprain, maybe..." Heinrich felt his heart raise somewhat at that. A sprain was a bit more doable in the ways of healing, not so much a fracture. "She's been overworked. Very dehydrated." That part of the diagnosis came out rather scathing, and Heinrich felt it, along with the small stab of guilt.

"Yes, that is entirely my fault," he murmured softly, but explained no further. "If it's not too much trouble, is there a doctor around nearby who might have a look at her? I could walk and bring him back."

"Mm, no one around for quite awhile. My husband takes a cart into town... I suppose we could load her onto the back of it..." The woman began mumbling to herself, and as though by pure serendipity, the sound of cart wheels bumping against rocky road suddenly squeaked to life on a gust of wind. That was one thing Heinrich liked about the wind--it aided his hearing, sometimes, by bringing sound with it. "Oh! Why, there he is now!"

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Heinrich gave a small bow once he met the woodcutters eyes, and the old man sniffed, his brows furrowing. "Miranda? Who's this stranger?" he asked gruffly, his eyes falling on the horse lying in the ravine.

"He says he's a runaway!" Miranda--that was the woman's name, Heinrich figured--chirped from below.

"Traveler," Heinrich corrected her with a small jerk, nervousness spiking into his heart that needn't be there. The woman blinked, then laughed, realizing her mistake and waved away the old man's worried stare.

"Got a lame horse?" the man asked, one hand gripping the reins of the rather irate-looking mule attached to the cart. "Sir?"

"That--ah, she said... she said her leg was sprained, not broken," Heinrich dithered, not used to being around so many people at once. Two people, to be exact. It was different, and he wasn't fully sure who to look at, thoroughly convinced that he shouldn't be wearing that mask, but it couldn't be helped.