To the north and south lies sand, here along this stretch of land that travels east and west is a thin blacked out road the asphalt burnt from a great fire. Occasionally a yellow splash of color can be seen in the center of the road like some crazy painter ran down the highway and occasionally touched a dirty yellow brush to the surface. 16 men and woman travel with you to the East Lands. Moving only as fast as the slowest member, a large rotund human named Jake you make slow time. The sun beats down through a mist of yellow smog and the heat is oppressive and threatening. Occasionally dirty green lightning sparks in the distance to the North, electrified by the heavy layers of sand brought up by last nights winds.
During the trip no single person has been put in charge. A dorgal named Fridge, a barrel chested Scottish Terrier mix, scouts 200-300 yards ahead of you. Occasionally lifting his nose to the air to search out the scent of enemies and friends alike.
Around noon Fridge comes trotting back to your group. Ezra is chewing a piece of dried pork and Fridge comes and sits down in front of him expectantly. Ezra tears off a piece and tosses it to the Dorgal who catches it expertly.
“Man coming up, half a mile ahead.” The dorgal says, chewing the meat with savor. He scratches behind his ear with a hand then looks at his hand as if he has found something interesting.
…“Anything else?” Victor asks impatiently
Fridge looks up startled, “Smells like gunsmoke and old books.”
You both exchange odd looks because in a world of oddness that is still an odd way to describe a smell.
In one sentence what do you do?
Reminder: No complex actions. Moving and doing something is fine but its a 1 for 1 thing here.
“I walk forward and try to see if I can catch a glimpse of the person coming?”
“I inform the rest of the group of what Fridge said making sure they understand that he hasn’t said anything to indicate friend or foe.”
That kind of thing.