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Andrea pressed onward. She sternly reminded herself that next time she
went adventuring she would bring more suitable shoes. These hurt. Every
step she took was another agonizing to her swollen feet. She rested every
now and then, trying to take the pressure off. But necessity reminded her
that she had to press forward. By now vagabounds had likely absconded
with all valuables in the carriage, and probably would take her if she
ventured back. As she crunched gingerly down the broken road, it soon became apparent that the smoke was coming from somewhere back in the woods. It could not be the inn. Still, she had to find safety. Thus, when a path toward the smoke offered itself, she gladly took it. The smoke turns out to be:
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