Gord hurries back to barricade himself home, wishing you good luck in a barely audible mumble. As the light gets dimmer while the sun is lower and lower on the horizon, and shades grow longer, you start making your way through the vegetation, that gets thicker as you proceed deeper in the woods. To all those who have ever taken a stroll in a common wood, this place appears... not properly common. You start seeing some trees so large that they don't really fit Daunton's typical species, weird bushes, and the fauna doesn't really reflect your idea of what you should be seeing, either.
[sblock=Nature or Arcana 15]this definitely looks like a zone of passage to the Feywild.[/sblock]
Romulin is leading, and seems especially concerned, aside from his obvious predicament, about the surroundings. He continuously turns left and right, often slowing his pace to look more closely in a dark corner. He seems to know the area pretty well, though, and he's certainly showing more confidence than he was when praying for his life.
Eh, what can I tell you that I already haven't? Lord Arnamil is a governor serving the King of the Willows. He rules upon a vast territory that officialy starts a mile and a half or so North from here -by your standards anyway. Distance is difficult to calculate in Arcadia*, though we're still half in your world.
His authority, however, is undisputed among all the feys in the area surrounding his fiefdom... well, except for my Mistress, of course. he notes with an afterthought.
But it doesn't matter, because you will never be allowed past the outer gates. Only mortals upon which Lord Arnamil looks with favour are.