At least that's how it feels. The bottom of your boots are caked in mud and plant matter, and burs have hooked themselves onto every inch of your traveling cloak.
Suddenly, up ahead-!
A light flickers between the tree trunks. You hasten towards it, not even thinking it might be danger.
Sitting on a log by the fire is a figure dressed in a suit of blue patinated armor, the plates tied together with a yellow ribbon. Leaning against a tree is a polearm bade of the same blue steel and yellow ribbon. Open on thier lap is a open sketchbook, in which, they are busily writing.
"Oh- he-- hello! I didn't expect to meet anyone so late, and so far out of town. " They look up at you, slightly sheepishly, and close thier book. Thier voice is soft, and seems to echo inside thier armor. They size you up, noticing your muddy clothes and tired eyes. "Please rest here if you would like, traveler. Nothing will bother you tonight."
You thank them profusely and take a seat on another log around the fire. Dispite your exhaustion, your eyes begin to wander...