That fall knocked the wind out of you and you're still sore from the impact so you sit and rest a moment more. The road is wide enough for a single person on horse back to easily get around but you're hoping they can tell you where you've landed so you wait, only bothering to move the gun and ammo cases closer. The person approaching, however, is far more cautious.

There's not a lot you can discern about them. They're on a horse and covered from head to foot in a gray cloak. What you can see of the face is hairless and the chin line is neither male nor female. A lock of bland hair falls over one eye and the other is light in color. Their mouth is drawn in a neutral line.

They call out as they get closer but either they mumbled or you didn't understand. It sounded vaguely German. But the voice is masculine sounding and you decide they're a he.

"Guttentag," you call back, using up what German you know.

"Sprechen de Deutch?" the man calls back. You shake your head back and forth. The man chuckles and motions to the boxes beside you.

"What have you got there?" he asks in English and you give a releived sigh; communication will be possible.



"Guns," you answer truthfully.

"Camping supplies," you lie.