Fall in the Territories brings with it the visceral feel of death. The ground begins to harden and the air is cool, its winds singing requiem to the leaves it pulls from the trees. The forest itself surrenders to nature’s omnipresent cycle in reverence for what was, and what must now come. Rather than absorbing sound, the ground crackles with fallen leaves, and the waters flow shallow and slowly freeze. This year’s chapter in the book of life is coming to an end.<br/><br/>For mice the Fall brings on a strange schizophrenia of harvest and celebration mixed with taking extraordinary risks to hedge against ill preparedness and vagary. After Morten-Harvest most Patrols headed back home to Lockhaven. In fact this was part of why the Patrol was in Shaleburrow to begin with, being so close to Lockhaven it was an easy return. But now Gwendolyn had them heading west, and all the way to Pebblebook if necessary, at the outskirts of the Territories! Mawgwa had the distinct impression this was Aru’s way of saying that no good deed goes unpunished.<br/><br/>The hike from Shaleburrow to Barkstone was pleasant enough. With the Morten-Harvest festival still ongoing the road was frequented with carts loaded with casks and merchants trying to eke out that last sale of the season. West of Barkstone, however, the weather turned sour and a cold, icy rain began to fall. The raindrops fell heavily onto the fallen leaves, making the forest pop and crackle with a menacing cadence. Even if the heavy leaf cover made traveling safer, the rain made it nearly impossible, and at best cold, wet, and miserable. Everyone’s mood soured.<br/><br/>The Patrol was more than two-thirds of the way to Pebblebrook when the first frost occurred during the night. The rainwater that had fallen during the day froze, which especially effected Mawgwa because of the foolish heavy chains he wore out of devotion to someone, some<em>thing</em>, no one had ever seen, and very few even believed existed.<br/><br/>Baba knew the Patrol’s morale was at a breaking point, and with only thinly-veiled sarcasm he was being blamed for the miserable weather. So far they were all still holding up, but they no longer believed the grain-peddler was on the road; and if he was, he was dead. This truism led to a further disintegration of morale. That frosty, icy morning Baba knew that something had to happen that day to turn the mission around. Good, bad, it didn’t matter, but another fruitless day spent in the freezing rain was going to break the Patrol.