Madame Bouchard had to admit, that the journey was getting to her. What had initially started as an anthropological study, had become a morbid and emotionally draining pilgrimage. It was hard not to throw in her own biases, to tell the pilgrims to cease their madness and return to the safety of their homes. Dying on the side of the road seemed like such an awful way to die. All in hopes for some sort of blessing from a god. She had to stay strong, she would not let the subjects tarnish her views or her study.

When they eventually came to a rest, many of the pilgrims were quick to settle down. Granted, many of them literally half-dead, they would have little energy after the walking they had done for the day. The darkness of the night or the warmth of the fire brought her sleep. It was one of the first times she missed her home. The sprawling farmlands surrounding her estate, the slow-paced life, the simple yet happy lives of her countrymen. They were all things that she had took for granted. She lay restless, listening to the murmurings in the camp.

Bryson he'd seen it all. The journey admittedly was starting to get to him; and he could take on quite a bit. He prepared himself all the necessities for sleep and joyfully welcomed it's embrace.

Wido had had enough. He longed for the city, for firm ground beneath his feet, a soft bed on which to sleep. Any place in which the omnipresent lurking of death could be more easily ignored, masked by pleasures of the flesh. The scene of the man falling to his death as the cliff face crumbled beneath him repeated itself in his mind’s eye ad infinitum, a nauseating loop. Had this man accepted his fate with the same sense of serenity displayed by those left in the village? Ther merchant doubted it.

Wido’s ruminations were interrupted by the man that had provided the rope used to save the more fortunate of the pair that had stood on the portion of the trail that had plunged into the abyss. “Quite a day, huh?” he inquired. Wido was as surprised as he was thankful for the company, and for once his thoughts did not immediately turn to possible means for the extraction of funds from his interlocutor’s purse. “Well, aren’t you the king of understatement,” he replied, instinctively passing a hand through his hair. “I’ve had it up to here with this pilgrimage. How do you people go on? If it were up to me we would already be on our way down this unholy rock.”

"It's easier to commit yourself to something when you don't yet know how difficult it will be." Hewett responded thoughtfully. "I'd wager that everyone decided to stick around for a different reason, but I couldn't tell you what those reasons are. It seems like the only reason you're here is because nobody else wanted to turn back, though. What made you decide to take up with these pilgrims in the first place?"