Letter 3: Twelfth Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf
I
Dear Iran,
I have some very good news in this letter. The disease that struck poor Reynald is not contagious to the extent of our knowledge. We are joyful.
We are much closer to the Mountains now. A black shadow passed over us last night, and I believe it is nothing, but one of our number swear that it was a black wraith, a deathseeker. I don't believe in such nonsense, but I didn't believe in the omens two nights ago, either.
It had seemed this trip has been little but trouble and greviously bad luck. But the rays are breaking through the clouds and perhaps our journey will shine in the light.
It is night, and the embers of our fire grow dimmer. There is only one other beast awake, and that is young Narran. He was beginning to remind me of you, Iran, with his love for life and happiness, but this trip seems to be hitting him hard. The death of poor old Reynald stuck him (not to say in the least it didn't strike me!), and as you might know, he was very close to the old fellow. I hope he turns out of this journey all right.
The leader of our journey is suspecting that somebeast is following us. We stop to listen sometimes, upon his whim, it seems, to hear nothing. He will simply shake his head and concentrate upon something that nobody else is aware of. Perhaps he is sick, as well. That would be a stroke of bad luck.
Our list of suspects, however, is quite large. It could be any one of the small forest groups, like the Flitchaye, or it could be a vermin, or even a simple predator. The worrying and nervousness has lowered our morale.
But still we press on.
Love from,
Moralin
/I