Autumn.

The air was getting colder and the trees were becoming bare, leaving the last bright colors on the leaves. All the living creatures had migrated to the north of the Trench continent, where now it was a warmer time of year and much nicer.

The banditos were no different. Having counted down the last days for the possible return of their temporary leader, Clancy, he still hasn't returned, so the rebels slowly began to prepare to leave for the winter.

The clatter of hooves, the snorting of horses, the creaking of wooden wagon wheels diluted the quiet passage through a huge canyon. The only way to reach the northern part of the continent is to go through the mountains, for which the banditos were always prepared.

You were currently riding on the edge of the cart, having earned your fair share of rest for your legs, the route was tediously long. A cold air blew, causing you to shudder and hug your shoulders. Torchbearer walking next to the cart noticed your trembling, shifting his gaze and speaking in an authoritative and sharp, but velvety soft enough voice.

"Cold?"

He asked, frowning.