Dwimmer

Cynraede stood atop one of the many green, rolling hills of the Northern lands. The town of Dale lay just before him and within its walls, hopefully the faces of old friends and loved ones. His coal colored hair pulled back loosely into a wild pony tail with the remainder sprawling about his shoulders as locks of his mane billowed gently in the soft winds that graced the landscape. 

The fresh air filled the hunters nostrils, air he had not tasted in quite some time that had once been so familiar. His tattered cloak wrapped around his slender figure, the brooch upon his breast shining like freshly polished silver. He paused for but a moment, running his fingers across the worn, weathered wooden sign that simply read ‘Arrowhaven’.