The crackling fire whipped up the ripe stench of flesh, as she turned the stick occasionally, to ensure that all parts of her doe got thoroughly roasted.
She sat down on a bordering log with relish, a loud groan tearing from her. After the events in Adela, she needed a breather, at least for today.
Piece by piece her armor came off, shrugging off one shoulder plate after the other, figuring she was isolated enough without having to lug around the extra weight. Next came her pseudo-gauntlet, gorget, and curaiss; she wore nothing to protect her legs or head, not entirely out of choice. Quality "protection" could not only be expensive, but strictly in the reserve of knights and soldiers of any one country. Her pockets would have to be spilling at the seams with gold to afford customized, all-over Orc-fit body armor or find an especially bleeding heart metalsmith.
Lash couldn't sit still for long, though. It'd be a good time to take stock of her supplies, gauge what was lacking. But as she got up to head for her bag, she heard a rustle in the bushes, none too far off.
Hand instinctively going for the handle of her sword, she turned – with some trepidation – to see who or what decided to pass by.
[Timestamp is late afternoon, sorry not to have made that clear post-wise]
