Thank fuck that bad weather's over. I fucking hate the cold, ironically.
Stables were fine, even though the horses were spooked by those walking piles of rocks.
I think I'm glad for a brief reprieve from the drama of my dreams; I'm just wandering through a misty wood with some dryads. No centipedes, no monsters, just this grumpy white-haired man and some really beautiful dryads.