Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron rides alone through a very cold, very wet forest. 

The Karsite border is less than half a mile away. His Thoughtsensing informs him that no one is within two miles of him, but there could well be a shielded priest-mage with an escort; it's happened before.

He's SO tired. He got about four candlemarks of sleep last night, thanks to the raiding party that tripped his hasty camp wards in the early hours of the morning.

Being incredibly tired is hardly new, though. He can manage. He's been managing just fine for months. 

Vanyel rides onward, mage-sight held open, waiting for the inevitable Karsite soldiers who he'll inevitably need to set on fire. Vanyel is incredibly tired of setting people and objects on fire, but it's not like his feelings about this matter.