April 20, 1601
The sun's light is quickly fading; I am not on a country road, at least I don't think that I am. It doesn't look like the happy countryside that I had imagined. To describe exactly where I am, I am sitting on a patch of burned grass beside a used rocky road that is wearing through my old sandals. My sandals would be gone by now if I had gone up into the mountains surrounding the path. These mountains looked so beautiful and majestic from faraway at the inn. Up close they are very unfamiliar, all burned black and covered with razor sharp rocks from the size of pebbles to huge boulders that would have a tough time fitting in the Inn. There are a few bare trees along the roots of the mountains, which give cover against the strong wind that has blown in from the east. The wind has pushed me on my journey and kept me moving westward towards nothing that I know of.
It is almost night now. I can hear the wolves howl in the distance, they never sounded that hungry when I listened to them back at the Inn. They must be the dreaded werewolves that are known to prowl these hills on full moons. It isn't a full moon tonight though.
Ravens are all over this barren land, one was daring enough to swoop down as I was walking in the poring rain and peck me on the top of my head. I didn't even know that birds flew when it was raining; the birds I know of always took cover so that their wings didn't get too wet.