Distance is a funny thing. From miles away I believed I could likely scale the western peaks within a day. Now, camped in the shadow of these mountains, I see my folly: these unyielding giants of rock soar upwards riddled with grey crags and buttresses and needles eyes and monolithic slabs. They are truly marvels of nature. Some day, perhaps when this conflict has passed, I should like to return so that I might climb to their apex.
I have found the source of a forest stream and have made my camp here. The stream bubbles forth from under a rock formation, cold and clear. A draught of it is more refreshing than a night’s rest and soothes my blistered feet. The air is cool and the shade abundant. If my task were not so urgent, if lives were not hanging in the balance now, I would be content to rest here for some time.
I pray that Geor and Alarca spoke truly when they told me of the Warden’s location. I know not who he may be but it is my hope that I shall find him swiftly, before the raiders fall upon the inn. Though I have known them only a little while I find the thought of losing Geor, or Alarca, or Dermond too difficult to bear. Tomorrow I shall resume my trek and I shall endeavor to find this Warden before evening falls.
Since I returned to the forest my sleep has been free from dreams of watchful eyes or the shuddering rasps of the undead in the cave. It has been only a handful of days since Dermond and I first traveled to the caves and already it seems that a lifetime has passed. When, and if, I return to the university I shall not be as I was.