Morne and Essenla waded their way through the thigh-high grass, surrounded by trees and shrubbery as far as the eye could see. Which wasn't far, considering the dense vegetation, but still.
Morne kept his spear crossed against his chest as he walked, so as not to catch the blade on the unruly grass around him, and focused as much as he could on what was in front of him through the eye slits of his helmet.
Essenla had a much easier time seeing her way forward, on account of not wearing a helmet, and had taken the lead, guiding Morne through the forest in the general direction the Dryads had directed them toward.
At her hip was her goblin longsword, sheathed in a scabbard. The Dryads had determined that it was in proper enough condition to keep using.
Other than being extremely dull from hacking at wooden armor for an entire battle, it was completely undamaged. The blacksmiths had sharpened it up and given it back to her, making Essenla immensely happy.
