She sagged tremendously, her feet dragging long, tired lines upon the dirt path with no obvious destination. There was no telling how long Redrum had been walking, but he was certainly beginning to feel the effects of her long journey take a harsh toll on her petite body. Her mouth slavered at the scent of rabbit nearby, but she had neither the energy nor the will to hunt; besides, in her shifted form she wouldn’t be much of a hunter anyway without the proper tools — crashing through the woods on impossible stilts and carrying more body than she needed in order to jet through the forest was not an ideal hunting arrangement.
The wanderer was very close to giving up and collapsing on the trail, when a clearing spread before her, and she had to lift an arm in order to shield her eyes from the sudden exposure to the direct sunlight. Squinting, she noted the wood-framed houses and barns and dilapidated field fences that stretched before her. Broken wagons, torn hides and overturned barrels littered the small village — perfectly quiet, and clearly abandoned. Fearlessly, Redrum stumbled forth, falling to her knees at the nearest trough whose leaking bottom still held a few mouthfuls of rainwater. She drank greedily, sitting with her back against the trough once she had licked it dry.
Her hand grazed something beside her left thigh, and Redrum picked up an ancient axe, rusted and flaking orange particles. She tilted her head and twiddled it from hand to hand curiously, having read about the tool in some book or another, but never actually seeing one in person. What else would be around these parts?