<strong>Hanali, Warrior of the Holly Light and Sacred Blacksmith</strong><br/><br/>From another direction, a roan mare clip clopped lightly down the road.  Saddle and saddle blankets died to match the color of his well groomed coat.<br/>The girl on his back was a rare beauty, ripe and healthy as a maid of sixteen, but with a more mature cast too her features.  There was an alluring coppery cast too her skin that spoke of warmth and health too the primordial memory in blood and bone and sang of the Sun too those who’d never seen it, couldn’t understand it.<br/>In spite of heart shaped face and kiss me lips she wore a solemn countenance, eyes watchful for any danger that might threaten.  A sheathed longsword was stowed with her saddlebags, her ready arms seemed to consist of a warhammer and a small quiver tied at one thigh.<br/>She made her way down too the Caravan and stopped beside the men who’d been changed by their quest for survival in way less fortunate than she.  She met the milky eyes of the burned man and nodded greeting, then saluted the other the same way.<br/>When the old merchantman spoke, she listened closely, then nodded.  “We’ll none of us make it too Havengaurd—or back—without water, sir.  I mean too see we all make this journey together.”<br/>