Redhawk Caldera Graphite

It was a bleak, cold morning, and the sky was the color of lead. Streaks of it darkened where the clouds were thick, as if someone had taken a pencil and scratched the sky over.
He had left the forest behind as soon as they'd arrived to it. No doubt the guards assigned to this mission were still scouring the place for him. Perhaps they waited for their breakfast, given that he'd claimed to be off hunting. They would end up waiting until the day had grown long and hot. Not the brightest, thought Balor.
The outrider came to the foothills of a foreigner's holdings soon enough. There were signs of a patrol having crossed this way recently, although it could have been a hunter or even someone traveling on their lonesome.
He gave a cursory look through the trees one way, the other, and then back the way he had come, only to scoff. The very idea of tracing his way back to those buffoons wasn't worth entertaining. They would catch up eventually - or they wouldn't.
They didn't call him Driftstep for nothing.