<b><span style="font-size: 18px">East of Yartar; The Barge</span></b><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 15px">Serf? Interesting self-description. While of course few could escape their class, it was rare for it to be so openly acknowledged, at least for the inferior ones. <br/>
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<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 168, 133)">"Has the caravan passed this way yet? You'd know the one - 32 wagons Everlund-bound out of Yartar."</span> 32 wagons would make quite a noticable trail, and anyone using the nearby Evermoor Way would indubitably spot the evidence of their passage. If, of course, there was such evidence. Which would require the wagons to actually exist. But Lydia wasn't exactly lying - she was asking a question.<br/>
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Not that Lydia had any problem with lying, of course. Which she proceeds to do. </span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 168, 133)"><br/>
<span style="font-size: 15px">"We were supposed to meet them two hours ago a league upriver." </span></span><span style="font-size: 15px">Lydia jerks her thumb in the direction of the west, away from town. </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 168, 133)"><span style="font-size: 15px">"I begin to suspect all may not be entirely sanguine."</span></span><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 15px">Crinkling her nose, Lydia pretends to consider the options. </span>It was clearly mystifying, a 32 wagon caravan would have quality guards. What bandits would attempt to hit that? Certainly no ordinary group. Which would put the young woman at risk. If, of course, they had actually existed.<br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 168, 133)"><br/>
"Your horse is, I hope, blessed with the celerity of hoof to see you safely home, yes?"</span>Lydia was fairly certain the peasant girl didn't have a quality steed. Likely not any at all.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 168, 133)"></span>