The Elven woman stands quietly while Herger denies the news she has given them. I only know what the Whisper tells me, Giant. As great as she may have been, she is dead now. The Elven warrior retreats from the glade. Come! It is dangerous to be here at night! Gracefully climbing the uneven ground along the bluff, the Elven woman turns to Starhl and Mardo. Your fate is as you decide it.
Despite the horrific news the Elven woman has visited on the Heroes, the strength of their own bonds of comradeship support them as they struggle after the Elf. Leaning on each other for support, the Heroes move into the Fey forest. The scene is surreal and at times unworldly. The massive cedar, oak, maple, elm and homewood trees seem to sway of their own accord at their approach, their leaves rustling ever so slightly despite the lack of wind. Where undergrowth seems impassable, small trails appear, twisting and winding, often obscuring Heroes from those directly in front or behind them. Above, motes of light filter through the green canopy, lighting on grassy glades or stone escarpments, brilliantly colored butterflies and flowers. At times, out of the corner of their eyes, the Heroes spy figures walking next to their path: Elven hunters seen briefly, gone in an instant. Apparently, the Elven female had not lied about the other Caransil with her.
As the gloom of night begins to descend on Erethor, the Heroes pass through a cleverly hidden rock ravine that climbs a low hill at the base of a rocky bluff. Ghostly, sad singing drifts to the Heroes' ears from up the hill. Passing up the hill, the heroes come upon a small, stony glade. In the glade at the base of the cliff is the broken trunk of a gigantic oak, its moss-covered remains standing almost thirty feet tall and a similar amount in diameter. Much of the bark on the trunk has peeled away and its top edges are serrated from the violent break it must have experienced when its trunk split. The upper portions of the tree are now gone, although thick gnarled roots lie exposed above the stone and grass glade. Soft, gentle light emanating from small glass globes mounted on poles fixed in the ground illuminates the interior of the dead oak and the grassy glade. Caransil warriors can be seen exiting and entering the base of the broken trunk by a shadowy crack in a small lee at its foot. Several other Caransil lie on the roots relaxing, but sit up at the Heroes approach. Several Caransil emerge from shadowy crevices in the overlooking cliff at the group’s approach and exchange words in with the Elven female warrior. Well met, Luthorien. Runners have been sent and we should have word in the morning. The Elven woman nods and turns to the Heroes. This is Caransil patrol rest point. Our force is not large, but the glade is defensable against Shadow. Follow.
The heroes are conducted between two enormous roots of the broken oak trunk, and down a small grassy gradient to the adjoining apex of the two roots. Four Caransil guards are set to watch the heroes, while others bring the Heroes food: a nourishing potato stew and apple bake. I am Luthorien, Caransil warrior and defender of Erethor. Eat, rest, and regain your strength. No threat will come to you tonight. Runners have been sent to alert others more knowledgable than myself about your arrival and your interest in the group that entered the Darkening Wood. Good rest. With that Luthorien departs, leaving the Heroes with thier own thoughts and the gentle, sad singing of Caransil Elves.
As night descends, stars can be seen in the cloud breaks above. The summer heat also cools with night. Fatigue, sadness, and a desire to rest washes over the Heroes. Despite being prisoners, here is a chance, finally, after miles of pursuit, to rest.
The Heroes are jolted back into reality with Cyz's frantic voice. Starhl? Starhl! Where are Starhl and the Gnome?! Starhl and Mardo are nowhere to be seen.
Starhl feels reassured with Bjorn's Faith, the heavy weight of the ancient sword hanging on his back. Nearby, Mardo wheels his cart, carrying the Heroes allotment of heavy weapons. The pair follow the Heroes into Erethor, walking the twisting, uneven paths as rapidly as they can. The paths wind wickedly through the forest, the pair losing sight of each other and the other Heroes at times. Pushing through the undergrowth, the pair find themselves emerging at opposite points from the forest into the same glade where they had met the Elven warrior. As proof, below them further down the hill, the ashen wasteland extends to the East. Their companions and the Elven woman are nowhere to be seen. Passing again into the forest, the trail winds up the bluff and along its side, but eventually reemerges back into the glade. Further trials also find the trail loops through the forest and reemerges back into the glade. Each time, the Heroes note that the landmarks along the trail are different, as if the trail itself was shifting in the forest.
Desperate and tired, the pair watches as dusk settles on the land. To the south, the crimson Burning Line hovers on the horizon, shedding a blood red light over the tops of the trees and ash plain to the East. Both Heroes can only wonder what horrors lurk the edge of Erethor at night. Willing to risk the trail once again, the Heroes start to push forward but halt at the sight ahead of them. A massive furred head breaks through the underbrush ahead, its passage silent on massive padded feet. A wolf! But no wolf like Starhl or Mardo have seen before. Almost four feet at the shoulder, this wolf is a king of the species, a lupine like that that once stalked Aryth at its birth. A low growl escapes its chest, as its lips curl back to reveal wicked fangs.
