** Year 1361 **
Day 11 of his second week found him with little more than a stale piece of bread in his stomach. Any crumbs he'd managed to find had been left with his brother at home so he could survive while Rhain ventured out to search for a cure.
The question haunting his every step was, would he himself survive the journey?
He huddled outside a tavern, seeking the meager warmth seeping from its stone walls, but was promptly shoved away by the owner, claiming he was scaring away patrons. The wind howled in protest, its icy breath numbing his face until the tracks of his tears felt like frozen scars etched into his skin. As he shuffled through the relentless snowstorm, his feet became a numb weight, soon joined by the numbing frostbite crawling up his fingers. Anywhere he sought refuge from the bitter cold, he was scornfully chased away.
"Get lost, you stink, boy!"
