Shadowwyn Moor you had your maps drawn

She entered with a bang, quite literally.

The log was tough, hardened by the early frosts the once blanketed the land, making grip a near impossible task. A volley of sharp shoves came first as the Solitaire tried the bark, testing, searching for any give that might allow her to penetrate its outer hide. She found none.

A breathy huff followed on, swirling white in the cold evening air as the Brandt composed herself and trotted round to the base of the felled tree. It's hollowness was proven here, for a chink in the armour of clogged dirt revealed the dank innards. Not exactly inviting but a temporary shelter worth uncovering.