Pain wins out, and you stop under the cover of a nearby tree. Its lofty branches have stopped much of the snow from reaching its base, and you sit down in the dirt. There is a slight odour of animal urine, but it is otherwise quite a pleasant place. The lack of snow on the ground has made it feel considerably warmer than other areas of this forest.
As you get comfortable, you remember why you have stopped. The pleasure of the warmth and the chance to rest your feet made you forget your inital purpose. Carefully, you slip the man's bag off of your shoulder. A deep brown leather makes up its body, and the strap is made of a sturdy canvas, also in deep brown. The strap is worn and in several places appears to be frayed slightly. Otherwise, it is perfectly fine. Two shiny claps hold it shut. You take off a stolen mitten and carefully prise open the clasps, one after the other. A damp smell wafts from the bag. It is not lined, and has a dilapidated feeling to it. The bag had lived a life with this owner, you presume.
The darkness underneath the tree obscures your vision into the bag slightly. You edge slightly closer to the place where you stood, and the light seems brighter.
The contents of the bag prove are made up of a strange assortment of items. Some look to be of use to you, the others seem worthless.
A well-thumbed map is the first item that you find. It is poking out of the top of the bag. Whilst worn, the map is detailled and you set it aside to look at once you have seen everything else; it appears to be of the forest you are currently in.
There is also a large bag of meat jerky. You are unsure as to what meat it is, but food is food, and you set it aside for keeping. There is also a half-full water skin, a scratched but still readable compass, and a large packet of what appear to be boiled sweets. A small, sharp knife, engraved with a strange pattern catches your eye, its blade glinting in the cool sunlight. The inscriptions baffle you. You suspect that it may be an ancient language, but you do not know.
At last, your hand meets a cool bottle, made of glass, and a small roll of fabric. Triumphantly, you wrench these from the bag, dislodging several items as your hand brushes past. It occurs to you how well-packed this bag is. Everything has a place, and there seems to be everything you could possibly want, and several things that you are not sure of the uses of.
The writing on the bottle is in the language of the Tume Lands. A language you know well, having spoken it daily for many years now. 'OINTMENT FOR INJURIES', it reads, printed in neatly stamped letters on a yellowing label peeling from the front. You unscrew the lid from the bottle. It is stiff, but comes off easily enough.
As you remove the lid, an overbearing stench of rosemary and thyme waft towards you. You peel away your jacket and shirt, exposing your wound. The cold is like a thousand icy daggers against your skin, and you bite your lip, drawing blood, in an effort to counter the pain. You carefully dip one finger into the bottle, and it emerges covered in a greenish grey gloop. You carefully apply it to your bare skin, ensuring that all edges of the wound are coated in the stuff. You then take a bandage, and using the knife, cut it to a sutiable size. You apply this to the wound, and put on your shirt and jacket again.
Now that your wound is patched up for the time being, you wonder if you should move on. Darkness is falling and the map has several towns marked on it, which may be of use to you. On the other hand, you may find other things you need if you continue to look in the bag. You are also quite tired, and consider bedding down for the night under this tree.
Continue looking through the bag?
Go to sleep?