Delia tried to walk with purpose, tried to walk tall. But her suitcase was heavy, and each time she took a step it would knock painfully against her knees and her posture would deflate. She sighed with resignation and hugged the case to her chest, taking broad and unflattering steps. At least she would not be injured walking like this. Where was she anyways? She could barely see the green walk beneath her, for the misty fog billowed in more and more, until her clothes were soaked and her hair damp and obscuring her vision. Delia stopped walking, plopped down on the ground, sitting on her suitcase. She put her head in her hands and felt the cold against her skin, the light tingle.
Then she heard the heavy sound of hoofbeats growing near.