>Once we put a little more distance between us and Easthaven, pull the horse to a stop for a moment, then lean back, close our eyes, and breathe deep a few times. Please don't let this be the last time we see that place. Maybe Braston is home, maybe our fame and fortune is elsewhere from that, our cure is more than likely, but Easthaven WAS our home. And the people there...
>"Keep them safe."
>Pull yourself together, Naz. Time to be sentimental once we fix ourselves. Give the reins a snap. "Come on, horse, we got miles to eat up."
>Keep an occasional eye for Cirno along the way. She wayliad us once, outside chance she'll be back.
>You continue onward for a while, then pause, lean back and close your eyes and just breathe in the enormity of all this. It's still so much... the danger facing your sleepy little birthplace and the doom etched in black lines beneath your skin. You offer your hopes up to the air.
>Then you gather yourself together again, give the reins a snap, and continue on your way. The horse gives a sharp nicker and breaks into a brisk trot. The trees scroll gently past as the miles blend together, and through it all, the steady clatter of the horse's hooves.
>You keep an eye out for Cirno as you approach the bridge, but find it once again unoccupied. Wherever she is, it seems she isn't harassing travelers this day.
>The hours pass slowly, despite you feeling certain you're making better time than on your last trip out. Your horse is eager and hearty and covers the road quickly, but the circumstances around this journey color your perception, painting each hour grey and protracted. You pause occasionally to let the horse rest, or have a drink, but you largely keep yourself to the road, and do your best to keep your mind there as well.
>Eventually you start to pass carts traveling in the opposite direction as farmers return from their days at market. It feels like there are fewer of them today than usual, but perhaps it's just a state of mind. The wilderness seems even emptier than usual, your isolation more total. The sound of the wagon's wheels blurs into an endless drone, as constant as the skies above. Soon enough, it is sunset. Despite everything, this manages to be a vivid and golden one, the waning sun shedding its warmth as if it were smiling down upon you. Before dusk has even fully settled upon the sky, you can see the lights and buildings of Braston spread across the distance. It seems a... strangely long time since you've seen them.
