Failen had been on the run for a month, his trusted personal guard the only other person with him. Together, the two had made their way through the countryside, avoiding his brother's assassins and the commonfolk, who all now believed him to be some sort of demon, which was why his brothe could try to kill him without being lynched himself. Miraculously though, just after the first snow of the winter fell, Failen and his guard Aleistar made it across the border to a neighboring country, where hopefully less of his brother's assassins would find them. Trudging through knee-high snow in their summer clothing, the two unused to such a cold clime, soon came upon a small town. "Aleistar," the exiled prince said, shivering, "Let's stop here...I want to sleep in a bed by a warm fire tonight...I'm done with trudging through the snow." The knight nodded. "Yes, my lord," he said, just as wanting for a warm bed and a full night's sleep. Finding a road, where there wasn't as much snow, the pair of elves moved to the town, though Failen couldn't read the signs. He could speak the language of these people just fine, but reading it was another matter. We need to find an inn, he thought, wishing he had worn a heavy jacket and sturdier boots for the escape, though in his homeland it was still mild an temperate. Damn the cold, he thought.