[OOC This is a tale told by an unreliable narrator, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.]
Lacuna’s head hurt. It always hurt when she tries to remember or to concentrate one idea too long. Images flitted across her mind’s eye. She sits by the fading campfire and watches the flames flicker. The camp is quiet with only a few marauder still awake. Something is wrong. She does not know why, but there was something profoundly wrong. It does not feel like home anymore. Had it ever been? Yes. Yes, when her sisters were with her, it had been home.
She misses her sisters. They had told her where they were going but she has forgotten. She forgets so easily. She knows now it can be put off no longer, she must make a choice - to stay or go.
The decision is not easy but she will go to the Old Lands; she will seek out Melkiar, maybe he will know where her sisters are or, at the very least, what is wrong with the camp. She looks around in the fast falling light and the faces seem familiar but they are wrong. She does not know why, but they are wrong.
She stands up and slings her backpack across her shoulders, picks up her bucklr and spear, and walks out into the night.