Raven's Watch and every minute gets longer

Since the storm had battered the coast, his forward momentum had waned considerably when he had no other choice. He had been forced off his route—his only semblance of a plan, and then attempted to forge an inland equivalent beyond the reach of the worst of it. So he tracked on, and on more each day to the point that he had long since lost count, and only barely held fast to his grip on keeping himself surviving.

So, when the hunts for the morning failed spectacularly, and he had suffered a misstep that left his ankle sore and swelling up, his morale plummeted further, fast. In seeking some solace from the cold bite to the winds, and perhaps someplace where his luck might be better, he skimmed along the mountain range's edge. The going was slow, but he had nothing better.

With a limp wanting to set in, his willingness to fight it off fading, and a frown etched firm onto his expression, he knew he was in no shape to go tracking into the elevations for now. Thankfully, some relative relief came as his pathway opened up into a new vista; at the bottom of the overlook, unknown to him as Raven's Watch, he found a peaceful riverside and closed in. Once he made it there, he prowled its edge some, and sought a peaceful bend to find a drink, and a place to soak his ankle if he could be so fortunate—although a hot, fresh meal was all he really wanted, he didn't feel like he had the energy to make it happen yet.