Kazdel, Kazdel. As they fled from Leithanien, the squad members surrounded Mudrock, their conversations always returning to Kazdel. If only we were in Kazdel, we'd have our people, we'd have food and drink, and most importantly, we'd have a place to settle. Most of the squad were Leithanian locals who had joined the Mudrock Squad there, and a few were old members who had been with her since Ursus. It used to be that most drifted between a few settlements near their homelands—taking odd jobs, or scrambling in mercenary groups to scrape up some business. Nobody had been to Kazdel before, but their homesickness for it was united in its fidelity, every bit the real thing. We must cross the mountain range before dark, Mudrock told them at dawn before they set off. They crossed a rugged plains, damp vapor enveloping them, the mountains growing hazy and blotted in their shrinking sight. Heavy beads condensed upon every wild, virid blade of the sloping meadow, steeping them in mossy hues, bowing them in dejection. The weary squad trod upon weary grass, the future that faced them only more wearisome still. Beyond the mountains floated a great black cloud, a sign of the torrents to come. Rapidly, thick fog fell from the high heavens to rest between the peaks, shrouding their summits, only drops of snow-white visible—if that—in the haze. All looked to Mudrock, their silence asking her: What do we do? She came to a towering cliffside, and called softly to those friends who never once spoke. As if answering in harmony, the stern rock delightfully parted by Child of Soil and Stone's request, then reformed, and all now found a simple yet comforting alcove before them. As night fell, those sheltered in the cave found the rain yet to abate. Hoping their pursuers would be tarried by it too, one spoke half-jokingly—if only we were in Kazdel. I hope it'll be firm enough for us there, sturdy, just like this place our leader made for us, actually. In the stifling atmosphere, others too began to chat of their imagined Kazdel until the dead of night. The silent, wordless Mudrock placed a palm gently to the ground, feeling the faint beating of the raindrops against the soil and stone. Yes. If only it were like this.