It was a commonly held superstition among the people of Orvinsby that there was a point where Erastil's protection ended. Somewhere between the last of the houses and the first of the winteryews the brisk chill ceased to invigorate the spirit, and became a bitter cold that sapped the strength from a wanderer's bones. As the two companions cleared the last of the houses, the cold wind certainly seemed to blow harder, slicing through their layers of furs, and prickling across their skin.<br/><br/>It would not do to linger out here in the cold. Best to find the herbs quickly, and return home to a warm faire. Now, how well did Zeldana remember the way to those hot springs, where the lavender grew?<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Zeldana's Survival Check: 1d20 + 11</div><div class="spoiler_body">Rolled with Permission<br/><br/>16+11 = 27<br/><br/>Zeldana finds her way to the hot springs without any difficulty.<br/></div></div>