The sun was hiting Torvas face with it's scortching tuch. He pulled his lufe further down his head as to try avoiding the heat. At the moment he envied the people of the deep south, with their snow and cold winds. Though as with most cases, envy is a never ending journy. (perfection lives across the bridge) Instead it was just to bite down and do his best to ignore it. The travel was still far untill he reached the capital, looking out through the window of the passager wagon he could only see the flatlands that spread into the horizon. Perhaps if he could find it in him to pay someone to change the seats at least he could get some shade perhaps. But such thoughs did not even really ocure to him more then notion of possibility, about as much as to strip naked and drench himself in his drink.