Lost

Silas choked in a breath of heavy sulfur and soot-filled air. His once white coat had been stained a deep charcoal color on his head, the crest of his neck, and back. His hooves and fetlocks were stained to match it from wading through a blanket of fallen ash and soot. Rosalind wasn’t in much better shape as they trudged along the path. Eldfell wasn’t a place they ever thought that they’d end up and now that they were here, they weren’t sure if they were even going toward the volcano, or if they were just getting increasingly more lost with every turn. Silas tried not to think about it too much, but he couldn’t help the overlying feeling of doom that had settled in.

“If we head to higher ground we may be able to see something that will tell us where we are,” Rosalind suggested, ducking her head against a particularly strong gust of scorching, ash and sulfur filled wind. “With any luck, we’ll be able to find a nearby cave or even just an alcove in the rocks to wait out the ash fall in.”

“We could do that,” Silas agreed. “But first we would have to find higher ground to go to.” Between the falling ash and the wind blowing more ash and dust around, they could barely see what was right in front of them. How were they supposed to find their way to any sort of path in this?

“Don’t worry, little one,” Rosalind answered. “We will find a way.”