Grim thoughts in Barovia

The air in Barovia was thick and heavy, like the never ending fog that covered the horizon: after another wolf assault, the group of adventurers was exhausted, miserable and decidedly scared. The person more affected by the situation was Andry, the halfling, who was cowering in a corner of the camp, keeping her knees close to her chest and looking in the distance. Her face was contracted in an expression of pure desperation and her long, black hair, wet by the rain, were like a funeral veil covering her shoulders.
-Andry...?
Asked her the half-Orc, receiving as an answer a long look of her big, unnaturally light colored. The warrior sat next to her, hesitating before putting a hand on her skinny shoulder shaken by her sobs.
-Andry... I know it has been tough, and the possibility of never returning home scares me too, but we have to move on! Maybe someone can help us see the sun again!
-I don't really care about the sun... or "home"! It's just... it's just... I don't want to die again!
Muttered Andry, lifting her chin and showing the gruesome scar she had on her neck, a grim reminder of when she was slain as a child: that was the reason she became a warlock, after the spirits resurrected her and gave her powers in exchange of the relentless chase of whoever did that.
-It's normal to fear death, especially...
-No! You don't understand! If i die... who will find my brother? Who will punish who killed me, my parents and kidnapped him? Who do we think we are to challenge the Lord of Castle Ravenloft? We can never win...
Her words resonated in the silence, and everyone reflected grimly on her words, without admitting to be equally scared and hopeless.
-Maybe... maybe it's time to give Madame Eva a visit...