Return to Stavanger

The DM: The morning of May 23rd, the temperature is consistently cool, the sky features high, streaking clouds and a hint of blue. A moderate breeze is blowing from the northwest. The cart you climb aboard into smells, but the green hay that's been heaped upon it mitigates the odour somewhat. A large, rotund 19 year old girl, Greta, is driving; she is friendly but a bit dense, with a conversation not at all tainted with education.

For a mile you travel on a fair cobbled road, before turning right at a fork and heading off on a cart track; this lasts nearly seven miles, taking you through recently planted hay fields and past gleaming lakes. The wind freshens and the sky develops into a dull blue, with a few puffy clouds. Steadily you make 4 mi. an hour. After two and a half hours, you reach a crossroads that you recognize, as once you met officials of Stavanger here before heading off again for Mimmarudla. You turn north onto a cobblestone road, heading to Stavanger. It is about 10:30 in the morning.

Pandred: I quietly hum the Åsmund Frægdegjevar as we bounce along.

The DM: I listen.