Title: Fortuitous Find
(Yme runs on, spotting a strange plant from which a sharp limb is dangling. She takes this as she passes by.)
Yme: A fortuitous find…
(The scene next shows some rock ridges and scraps of offal in the dirt as Yme leans to inspect the area.)
Yme: This crude branch gives me fresh confidence, though it is no match for my trusted tool, and its constant presence in my grasp only reminds me of what is missing.
The sporadic trail has led me here; many tracks, most old, and some spoor, remnant material emitted by creatures that do not feed from pure spirit as the Strasmin do.
It seems I have discovered the creature's lair, and I consider my next move. Leap over the ridge and try to take it by surprise? Wait for it to sleep and then reclaim my frenting rod?
I listen intently, but the lair seems silent.
