As the golden-haired half-elf dismounts from the chestnut mare, he plucks a quill from out of his weathered cap and dabs in into a small vial threaded into his leather jerkin.  With tight, quick scratches he jots down something into a pocket-sized folio.  "Road...ill...tended..." he mumbles to himself, finishing his note with a decisive stab.  "My neck will be in worse shape than this trail if we don't rest a spell.  Ah!  Ain't that just the way.  Buttons, could you hold this?"

He returns his quill to his cap, where a pinched, furry face appears and takes the quill in its tiny fangs - the shiny eyes of a bat glitter for just a moment before slipping back into the confines of the hat.  "Much obliged, my friend."  With a sigh and a casting look about the campsite, the half-elf places his hands on his hips.  "Anyone for a quick run? I know a great song to keep the blood pumping.  Just me? Ah, well!"