When the Coast's not Clear

[Tobias Stalt]

Closed to Rayleigh

Salt air licked at the sandy shore where the small ship dared to weigh anchor. Mid-morning light filtered through the perpetually slate colored clouds that shaded Alerar, the product of five lifetimes worth of factory smoke polluting the skies.

"Keep the broadsides prepped," Tobias warned, "and have Marley man the larboard swivel. If anything looks dangerous, fire at will." The grim youth made for the longboat, hands swiftly assessed his kit. At his right hip, a shortsword hung limp outside his thick, black garb. Twin long knives crossed the small of his back. "No one is to follow until I give the signal."

"If we fire at you, we don't have a whole lot of discretion," came the uncertain response.

"I'll manage," the rogue slurred. "Just don't fire unless something actually is the matter. I don't like dancing for big cannons, Alan."

"Aye, sir." The first mate made for the helm and took his place. His face was a mask of contempt. Tobias glanced back at the man with a smirk, but hid his laughter. That could come later.

The boat sank toward the inky ocean and dipped in with a low slurp. Tiny waves battered the small rowboat to and fro, and as Tobi took the oars, it creaked into motion.

"I hate shore patrol," he muttered as his arms pulled, and the distance closed. The shore became a larger stain of off white behind him, while the Rum Runner became more of a speck each time he rowed. "There's not even going to be anything to report." He sighed, "there never is anything to report."

When the longboat kissed the shore, Tobias hopped into the ankle high water and tugged the vessel further inland. "Move fast," he reminded himself, "even if nothing can see you, you can't afford to be seen."

The wood matched the sand, just barely, aged paint intended the color of sand offering camouflage to his avenue of escape. When he dropped the bow, he took a moment to look around.

As suspected. "For miles," he groaned. "Not a bloody thing for miles but sand."

[Rayleigh]

The sea. Finally. The young woman had begun to doubt that she would ever reach it.

It had been hours since she had left the cave, but the hellish things that she had witnessed still burned at the back of her mind. Her time spent on the site of the excavation project had been nothing short of a nightmare. On the wings of pure adrenaline, Rayleigh had continued her hurried pace for another three miles or so after making her escape. Then, the exhausted girl had finally given up the fight. Her body had collapsed gracelessly to the dirt, and with her remaining energy, she had crawled on all fours to the base of a nearby tree. Propping herself up against the trunk, Ray had allowed herself a few precious moments of rest. But she had not closed her eyes, as the darkness only brought visions of the monster that may still be pursuing her. That thought alone had been enough for her to climb back to her feet, and continue her journey.

She had followed old trails, cross-crossing the land with no concept of what direction she was heading. The smell of the ocean and the setting sun had provided her with some idea, but once the sun slipped beneath the tips of the trees, and the darkness of night was upon her, Rayleigh had found herself completely lost. The woman had stopped a few more times to rest, but each break had ended shortly after with the threat of the phantom from the cave catching up with her. Eventually, her fear of the things in the darkness, coupled with her rumbling stomach, had driven her to give up on her rest-stops all together.

The sky above lightened from a starless black to a warm grey, and Ray knew that the vibrant colors of the morning sunrise would soon spill over the horizon. This brought her little comfort, as her body still ached and hunger still gripped her. Even the sight of the ocean brought her less joy than she had anticipated. Emerging from the trees, boots sinking deep into the sand, a new question invaded her thoughts. I've reached the beach. Now what? Having been so preoccupied with reaching the ocean, Rayleigh had spent little time planning her next move. Now, even after reaching her final destination, she found she was still tired, still hungry, and still haunted.

It was the voice that finally lifted her spirits. It carried across the quiet coastline, where the only other sound was the gentle lapping of waves at the shore. A hand rose to shield her face from the young sunlight filtering through the clouds. Squinting, emerald orbs finally located the source of the noise. A single figure stood beside a small craft, just outside of the water's reach. Many thoughts tumbled through Ray's mind at that moment, more than a few of them warnings against approaching a complete stranger. The last time she had thrown herself into a strange situation, she had released an ancient beast from the depths of Hell. Not wanting a repeat performance, Ray hung back for a moment longer. Was there any way that she could ensure this man was trustworthy?

Finally, hunger, thirst, and exhaustion won out. Truth be told, she did not really need the man to trust her, and she did not need complete trust in him either. All she needed was some food, maybe a bit of water, and directions to the nearest city. Once there, she could contact Louise or Vincent, and wait for them to come collect her. All she wanted at that point was some familiarity, and a sense of safety. She wanted someone to tell her than everything would be alright.

Lifting a hand in greeting, the brunette began the trek through the sand. Her body still shook, but her voice was steady enough as she called out to the stranger. "Hello there. Could you help me?"

[Tobias Stalt]

In a blur of motion and flash of metal, Tobias pointed the tip of a blade at the girl. His eyes were wide as his mind raced over the situation. Where had this young lady come from, and how had he missed her? His arm remained rigid as he spoke. "Easy lass," Stalt crooned in a stern, yet almost gentle voice, "don't come a step closer til you disarm. Drop everythin' and I promise not to carve you a new hole."

He could almost see the hope drain from her eyes as she deflated. "I'm unarmed," she called in a weary voice. Her hands crawled skyward and she turned both palms toward him to prove their emptiness. "I mean no harm. I just need food," she rasped, "and water."

Tobias hurried toward her and placed the sharp edge of Cold to her neck. "Don't move," he ordered tersely, "you wouldn't like as what's haunting this blade." The warning was singular, and all he would offer. Tobias was many things, but above all, he was a man of his word. His hand slipped deftly over her form as he frisked her for any sort of weapon. It was a practiced and unfeeling drill, and though he missed the touch of a woman, he stole none from this girl.

Rayleigh stood still as he searched her and kept her lips sealed shut. One wrong word and that wicked looking knife would taste her blood. When he pulled it away, she let out a sigh of blended relief and terror. "What the hell," she sputtered, "did you have to hold me at knifepoint?"

Tobias offered no answer; instead, he pushed her gently aside and took a few steps inland. The sands beyond the shore were deep and vast, and they swirled like the storm that plagued the air above. Bolts of lightning danced across the bleak sky and thunder rolled softly in the distance. "No sign of southerly movement," he confirmed quietly. "As expected." Tobias let out a sigh of boredom and frustration as he turned back toward the girl.

"You," he motioned toward Ray with the dark dagger and shook his head, "should not sneak up on people." The Tactician stalked past her on the way back to his long boat and she gaped at him.

"You're not exactly a people person, are you?" she asked in disbelief.

Tobias twisted and shot her a wry smirk. "Out here, yer not a person," he responded. "Once we get back to the Runner, you'll have yer rations. Til then, don't break my balls and I won't break you."

Rayleigh snorted indignantly. "What a crass man," she muttered. The girl thought she could hear a faint chuckle, but Tobias was preoccupied with dragging his rowboat back into the water. Knee deep in the sea, he called back to her. "W-wait!" she called out, "you better not leave me!"

"Keep up," he called over his shoulder, "or I'm leavin' you behind. The outpost is several days out, an' the boys 'ave no time for stragglers." She stood several feet behind him with folded arms, her demeanor fiery and saucy. Tobias tucked his long knife away and held the boat. "Up front," he commanded, "face me. No funny business, or I'll hog tie and keelhaul ye all the way back."

He waited for the girl to load up before he boarded the boat himself and set the oars in their locks. With a deep breath, the mercenary took in the crisp sea air and smiled. "Now," he said, "would be the time for pleasantries."

[Rayleigh]

Clumsily, the young woman climbed aboard the boat. Though she was quite small, it rocked slightly beneath her weight. To keep from losing her balance and toppling over, both hands gripped the edges of the boat tightly. Face twisted in an ugly expression of extreme concentration, the brunette inched her way toward the front of the craft. This was her first time on the water, and while she was not at all thrilled to be in the tiny boat with the sharp-tongued stranger, his promise of food and safe passage convinced her. As she picked her way across the wooden slabs, his hog tie comment prompted a humorless snort from her. "You'd like that too much," she growled under her breath. If the man heard her, he did not make it known.

Finally, she delicately turned back to face Tobias. White-knuckled fists opened, slowly releasing her hold on the boat just long enough for her to drop into her seat. It was just beginning to settle from her sudden move, and Ray was just beginning to relax, when Tobias swung up into it. He made his entrance expertly, but the boat still bobbed, and the young mechanic still grabbed for the edge of her seat.

The mercenary, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. Without hesitation, he prepared the oars, and began to row them back out into open water. Rayleigh marveled at his skill, and the way he included his entire upper body in the motion. Despite their rocky first impressions, she found herself fascinated with the man.

The only sound was the oars cutting through the water's surface. Tobias watched Rayleigh expectantly, having just engaged her in conversation. Rayleigh watched Tobias intently, entranced by the way he moved. When she finally spoke, noticing his gaze on her, it was entirely off topic. "I didn't sneak up on you, ya'know." Her tone was cool, but emerald eyes remained soft. She was not looking to pick a fight with him. Tobias merely tilted his head, and after another moment of silence, she spoke again. "I was just in the area. I needed help."

"Still don't know your name," the man cut in. At the reminder, Ray's freckled cheeks warmed.

"Rayleigh," she replied. "Name's Rayleigh Aston. I'm a mechanic."

A smirk flickered across the man's lips. "Alright, Rayleigh Aston the mechanic." She flinched as he mocked her, but as he continued, his tone grew more serious. "What was it that 'ad you so troubled?"

His question brought a sudden change to her entire demeanor, and Tobias did not miss the way her cheeks grew pale. Donning a haunted expression, Rayleigh glanced back toward the shore. Emerald eyes were wide, and within them, he saw great fear. "I did something," the young woman began, "something bad. I agreed to work with some dark elves, and ended up releasing some sort of monster."

At the mention of dark elves, the golden-eyed mercenary frowned. He detested magic, and it was unfortunate that he had managed to pick up someone who used it. Still, his own curiosity prompted him to question her further. "Monster?"

Rayleigh nodded, then dropped her gaze to her boots. Recognizing how uncomfortable she was, Tobias grew quiet. Of course, he did not care much for magic discussions anyway.

[Tobias Stalt]

"Uh-huh," Tobias asserted to break the silence that settled between them. "That's that, then," he stated plainly. "No need to dally on clearly bad happenings; gods only know how many we'll see yet, anyway." The glum statement brought a sour, skeptical look to Rayleigh's face. One of the rogue's hands reached to his hip and he pried a skin loose, which he dripped over his tongue to wet it. The stench of fermented barley and hops wafted from his mouth to Rayleigh, and she thought better of asking for a sip. "Thirsty?" he asked, as though he'd read her mind. He held the ale skin out toward her with a crooked eyebrow.

"No, thanks," she snapped, "I'm dehydrated." Tobias slipped the drink away and pulled once more, and the boat crept back toward the small brig that would bear them home. The day had grown as bright as the Alerian sky would allow; the fierce crack of thunder as it approached drew a quick backward glance from Stalt.

"Almost there," he told Rayleigh as if reassuring her that it would be fine. He spared a look in her direction to see if the thunder had frightened her; she shook, but if it was due to the storm, he could not say. Tobi snorted softly. His face remained ever stern, hardened and set on his course. Eyes that had once been gentle amber were now a torrent of gold. Messy locks of deep chestnut brown cluttered his brow and ears. His chest bared with each stroke of the oar, which unwittingly revealed the brutal scar over his heart. "Tobias," he said, in hopes that his words would break her trance. "Tobias Stalt."

His name had raced through the upper echelons of Alerian society after his "betrayal" of the state. Mixed feelings surrounded the entire debacle, and in Tobias' own mind, the past was the past. He had enemies because he had decided to take a stand against the evils he'd done. What would happen to him from that point forward, only time could tell. Rayleigh glanced up at him when she heard it. "Stalt?" she questioned. "You're a traitor." Her voice sounded accusatory.

His shoulders shrugged. "I've been so many fuckin' things," Tobias muttered, "not a bloody one of them matters. There's no gods as give a damn about us little people, and fewer gods still have any love for mercenaries." The water around their boat had stilled, and as Tobias swung the bow around to come parallel to the Rum Runner, he pulled the oars in and put a firm arm around the girl's waist. "Nothin's for sure in this world," he told her as he hefted her weight effortlessly. Rayleigh took the waiting hand of Alan, who pulled her aboard.

The girl glanced back over to Tobias, who hastily tied up the boat so they could fish it out of open water. Another streak of white illuminated the firmament, and the deck lit up with a chorus of raindrops. "So you're not denying it?" she called out loudly in an attempt to speak above the deluge.

As the longboat lifted up and dripped the sea's leavings back to her, Tobias stepped onto the deck. "I'm whatever you want me to be, lass," he replied curtly, "s'long as yer coin's good." He strode past her toward his cabin, where he would wait out the storm in relative quiet.

[Rayleigh]

Tobias brushed by her, and she turned with him, squinting through the downpour to follow him as he disappeared inside the ship. Coral lips were drawn in a tight line as she stared after him, paying little mind to the fat drops that bombarded her. Tobias Stalt. Rayleigh turned the name over a few times in her mind, doing her best to recall everything she knew about the strange man. Never one for politics, her father had rarely engaged himself in the gossip of their small town. Naturally, his daughter grew to follow suit. Still, conversations with clients often gave her a glimpse of the outside world. For quite some time, the infamous Stalt had been the hot topic, and his name had become synonymous with traitor. For what reason, the young mechanic simply could not remember. She did seem to recall a great number of casualties, however. Though she immediately recognized she was being far too trusting, Rayleigh found herself doubting he could be capable of such things. You hardly know him, countered her better judgement.

"Comin' in?" barked a voice directly to her left. Alan, the man who had helped her board the boat, was standing just inside a nearby doorway. He held it open to her, and though his face did not reveal any clear concern for her well-being, he was probably confused by her desire to stand in the storm.

"Yes," came her reply, but when her high-pitched, feminine voice was torn away by the whipping wind, she simply nodded. The short girl scooted under Alan's arm, leaving a damp trail behind her. Hands moved to her hair, and she rang it out briefly before turning back to the man. Much to her surprise, he had already taken his leave. People move quick here, the sopping girl observed, before making her way down the nearest hallway. She had been left alone, which she assumed meant she was free to wander the ship.

Boots squeaked slightly with each step as Ray explored, poking her head through any opening she came across. Fortunately, she was able to locate a room containing barrels and bags of various shapes and sizes. A bit of rummaging revealed this was indeed where the food was stocked, and further digging earned her a hunk of white bread. It was tough, but edible, and the hungry woman made quick work of it. After drinking her fill from a nearby barrel of water, ladling the lukewarm liquid to her mouth with her bare hand, she returned to the main corridor.

There, she was met by another man. He eyed her as she approached, clearly unsure what it was she was doing there. His confusion only deepened as she asked for directions to Tobias Stalt's cabin.

"'is quarters are that way," the sailor responded, motioning toward another hallway. The small brunette chirped a small thank you, before taking her leave. He was left to stare after the damp young woman, scratching his head as she finally disappeared around the corner.

The mercenary's door was marked, which Ray found herself incredibly thankful for. Due to the storm that raged around them, the sea was beginning to grow choppy. The more experienced crew members hardly noticed, but Ray, who had never been aboard a ship, was having a difficult time finding her sea legs. The ship lurched, and when she lifted her fist to knock, she found herself collapsing against the door instead. "Tobias!" She called out, struggling to right herself.

[Tobias Stalt]

Wind rocked the brig as Tobias puffed gingerly at his pipe. It was newer than the one Camille had given him, black and ornately carved from fir. He handled the apparatus like an ungainly tool and grimaced at the weight of it, despite how it fit cradled in his palm. Smoke roiled out of his nostrils like from a sleeping dragon, and he read from a small black book that sat in his lap.

When the impact at his door broke Tobias' concentration, he gave an irritated grunt. When Rayleigh called out his name, he stood and walked to the door. It opened with a swing, and she fell against his chest. Stalt watched her eyes grow wide as she jerked her hands and body back, and the red in her face sold him all of her secrets. "What?" he asked as he returned the pipe to its place between his lips.

"I'm not going to stand here in the hall, am I?" she snapped. Her clothes still dripped from the downpour above and her hair had plastered to her forehead. "I need to dry off." Her arms were folded at her chest and a shiver rippled through her small body.

"Yer not stayin' in my cabin," he replied flatly. "There's plenty of quarters what have no occupants. 'Ave a word with our quartermaster, he'll set you up right."

"You fuckin' wish, Stalt," she retorted, "as if I'd stay in a room with you." She turned her head away defiantly and continued to speak. "I wanted to talk, 'bout where we was headed. What you intend to do."

He turned his back to her and briefly considered slamming the door in her face. "It's of no consequence to you," he answered, "next we make landfall, yer on yer own. We'll take ye as far as Raiaera." Before the door could close, her whole body was in the way, and Rayleigh was nearly in his face.

"Like hell," she hissed, "are you gonna pick me up, then leave me wherever you want. I'm not some whore you can just throw to the side."

"Yer right," he turned and faced her with a smile. "I didn't pay for ya. Now get the fuck out of my cabin." He could see the anger in her eyes as she fumed and jabbed a finger in his face. Tobias made no move to intercept her hand or strike her; he'd always been taught that the only proper time to hit a woman was if she meant to kill you. Rayleigh Aston seemed nearly as harmless to Tobias as the dirt on his shoes. He did, however, allow the subtle sound of a sword slip free from his hip.

Rayleigh glanced down at naked steel and took a step back. "You," she stated, "you're a shithead." She pointed accusingly at him and repeated, "a fucking lowlife shithead! Did you know that, Stalt?"

"They remind me often enough," he drawled and inclined his head toward a few crewmen who amassed behind her to see what the fuss was about. "Don't get too comfortable; they haven't seen a lady in nearly three months. The Raiaeran gig isn't friendly to that sort of thing. Why, Charmy there ain't been fucked in- how longs it been, Charm?"

"Oi, fuck you, Stalt," came the terse reply, "when's the last I bent you over and fucked yer prissy arsehole?"

The chestnut haired youth cracked a smile. "Ye can see where he got 'is name," Tobias joked. "Anyway, they're a merchant naval vessel, and I'm a privately hired mercenary. Stay with them as y'like, but watch yer wee arse round the less cordial ones. As for me, I've got business needs attending."

He turned back toward his chair in a room filled with books and maps, dimly lit by lantern light. The door creaked shut and he sit himself down, but stopped short of taking a draw from his pipe. "Aston," he gritted his teeth and held his cool. "I told you to leave."

"I'm not finished talking to you," she responded slowly, as if talking to a child.

Tobias blew out a plume of black smoke. "Fine," he groaned, "talk."

[Rayleigh]

The door slammed, and they were alone. That was alright by Rayleigh, who could do without the prying eyes of the foul-smelling men. Besides, Stalt's words had unsettled her. Even if they had been made in jest, and the warning had been empty, she was thankful for the sturdy door that separated the two from the rest of the crew.

Turning her attention back to Tobias, she was greeted by a small cloud of black smoke. She coughed once, then did her best to suppress the rest of the fit, not wanting to appear fragile. Her efforts were rewarded by a sideways glance as he continued to rummage through his belongings. Strong, worn hands shifted books and stacks of paper. The hands of a hard worker, the young woman observed silently. The same hands her father had had. The same hands she had.

"Aston," the man barked once more, this time a bit more forcefully. His patience was growing thin. "You had something else to say?"

"Yes," came the simple reply. "I wanted to to talk to you about something."

"So I've gathered," he told her dryly, not even bothering to look at her this time.

The brunette wrapped her arms around herself, a gesture meant not only to ward off the cold, but also to offer her a bit of comfort. The past twenty four hours had been nothing short of a nightmare for her. Her nerves were shot, and her body was exhausted. A tense moment passed as she tried to figure out how best to approach the subject, but her mind simply refused to cooperate. Fatigue was beginning to cloud her vision as well as her judgement, and she blinked rapidly to clear the shadows that crept into her peripheral vision.

Finally, Rayleigh sighed. "Look," she began, the sass in her tone still fighting against the exhaustion. "I'm just not sure about none of this." Stress and excitement had a way of making Aston forget years of grammar lessons, and she often resorted to the poor language of her father when she experienced either of them. "I've never been to Raiaera. Hell, I've never left Alerar."

Letting out a heavy sigh, the girl collapsed into the nearest chair. Fortunately, the only other occupant was a small, leather-bound book. The mechanic fished it out from beneath her as she spoke again. "I ain't traveled much. Got no experience at'all, really. I just want to get back to Etheria Port, and Vincent, the mage who sent me here." Despite her tired features, she managed a scowl. "When I see him again, I'm goin' to beat the shit out of'im."

By this point, Tobias had ceased his searching. The mercenary was facing the young woman, and as he watched, she tugged a worn blanket closer to her. "He had to have known what I was goin' to find there, y'know?" she continued, beginning to wrap the cloth around her small, damp figure. Stalt's mouth opened, but closed again when he decided it simply was not worth the effort of scolding her over a blanket. Instead, he took another long, deep drag on the pipe, wondering where exactly she planned to take their little one-sided chat. He also found himself thinking about when it might conclude.

As if reading his mind, Rayleigh dropped her brown-haired head into her hands. "Fuck," she groaned, "I have no clue what I'm doing."

[Tobias Stalt]

"Not my problem," he muttered immediately when she spoke of her lacking experience with travel. Her desire to go to a port in Alerar, especially one he was quite familiar with, was out of the question. "Sorry," he said with a firm shake of his head, "the only part of Alerar as was on our itinerary, we just left." He placed both hands firmly on the desk and sat forward to accentuate his pointed stare.

She continued to piss about her misfortune in a solemn soliloquy until she finally admitted she was lost and uncertain. In the world of Althanas, Tobias couldn't blame her. His expression softened only slightly when she nestled into the blanket across his desk, and the mercenary gave a defeated sigh.

He stood and strode slowly over to her, where he placed a firm hand on her head. "Time to grow up," he said sternly. "This unforgiving world will eat ye alive if'n ya don't grab the reigns an' take command." His voice shifted back into the gruff accent he'd grown accustomed to alongside Jak Roth Rute. "You don't have a whole lot of experience in many things, judgin' by yer look. That'll change. I'll put y' to work straightaway, come morning. For now, rest here in me cabin an' let yer nerves settle."

She stared up at Tobias blankly, as though he were about to smack her. It seemed so sudden, his change of heart and kindness, Rayleigh thought that it might be a joke. "You mean it?" she asked in disbelief. Her mind raced over the implications of sharing his bedroom for a night, and she looked quickly away from him. "I'll cut your sack off if you touch me, Stalt," she warned.

Tobias guffawed. "In yer ruddy dreams, Princess," he called to her over his shoulder as he made for his bunk, "you don't have enough arse or teats on that skinny body to slake my thirst." Tobias never looked back, though he smirked to himself as he settled his head on the pillow.

[Rayleigh]

At his comment, the mousy young woman wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself. Pulling her knees to her chest, she curled up in the chair so that the top half of her face was the only body part exposed. Freckled cheeks burned a hot crimson, and she glared at him over the edge of the rough fabric. Every ounce of her wished to spit back a retort, but exhaustion clouded her mind. So instead, Rayleigh remained silent, emerald eyes following him as he retired for the evening. Once the mercenary had crawled into his bunk, and after a few moments, gone still, Ray emitted a soft sigh.

Gaze wavered from the sleeping man, dropping to the book-littered floor as her tired mind wandered. He had mentioned putting her to work, and Aston found herself wondering just what that entailed. Outside of her experience with machines, she had very few skills to speak of. Of course, she was eager to learn more, but her last adventure had proven to be quite traumatic.

As visions of the past twenty four hours began to return to her, the girl's small frame shuddered. It isn't worth worrying about now, chided her voice of reason. You left that thing in Alerar, and there are miles of water between you now. "You're safe," came her soft whisper, though her voice lacked any sort of confidence; she could not shake the creeping feeling that she was not free of the demon. Brown hair cascaded about her face like a veil as she brought her chin to her chest and buried her face in the blanket. Gods, came another thought, much softer and more timid than the first. What have I gotten myself into?

Green eyes finally slipped behind heavy eyelids as Ray succumbed to the exhaustion. Much to her relief, her sleep was dreamless.

When she finally woke, mid-morning sun was streaming through Stalt's small window. A few seconds passed as Rayleigh processed her surroundings. At some point during the evening, she had unfurled herself from the chair, and stretched out on the hard wooden floor beneath it. Tobias' blanket was still draped across her, and an old sack had served as her pillow. Fingertips gently traced the marks left in her cheek from the rough material as she climbed unsteadily to her feet. Drowsiness, soreness, and a lively sea caused the girl to teeter slightly. Arms flew out to her sides, windmilling pitifully as Ray attempted to steady herself. "Shit," she growled groggily, thankful that there was no one present to witness the debacle. Gracelessly, the mechanic tugged open the mercenary's door, stumbled through, and began to wander back the direction she had come the night previous.