The Lake-Man points, "south, it would seem." Indeed, the trail of half a dozen men or more is easy to follow from here. For the remainder of the day it wends its way among stony hills and across marshy dells. Land and waters alike here slouch south-east, and it occurs to Esgalwen that they cannot be far from the Gladden Fields. A chill takes her at the thought of that place of misfortune and ill-omen for the folk of Gondor, but her step does not falter, nor does her countenance betray any trace of fear. Nonetheless, she cannot shake the sense that there is a wary watchfulness about the land, as if they trod across a giant of an elder age, now uneasily a-slumber.
The going is harder than the fair lands across the river, and it is plain that Williferd, unaccustomed to long journeys far from home, is struggling to keep up with his more experienced travelling companions. He shivers in the breezes atop the hills, and his legs are soon covered in mud from ill-chosen steps in the fens between them. His breath is scarce, and he does not waste it on speaking.
Let's do some Travel rolls, shall we? Esgalwen
1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 1, 3, total 9
1d12 : 5, total 5
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 1, 1, total 8