I write as though to a friend, though it is only to myself. I had never thought of writing in a journal until now, but it seems as my new life begins, I ought best to chronicle it. For whom, I cannot say, other than myself.

This spectre in this strange place; this chilling narrator that he knew certainly was another form of torture; this voice that echoed off of stone walls and into his head, shaking around inside of him until his very bones rattled with the icy cold of fear. 

Finchley stepped into the Hall of Journeys within the House of Three Graces where everyone had assembled, making plans for their upcoming journey and talking in hushed whispers. In her hands was a small burlap bag weighted down by the contents within. She leaned against the side of the doorway and set the bag on the floor in front of her quietly, not wanting to interrupt anyone just yet.

Xanderian slowly walked up the hillside to the mirror, an overcast twilight quickly descending over Tol Lochul. She knew this was where Addie had retreated to. As soon as she saw her distinctive yellow hair against the darkening sky, she raised her voice. “Hail, sweet sister.”

They had been travelling back to where Osio had said would be safe for the prisoners of the orcs. An elven settlement in North Downs. On that path Winnie had heard the voice, the womans voice whispering in the water. She saw the bright bay mare drinking by the stream. The draw of the voice calling to her, pulling her near, she couldnt help it, feeling it pull her near. She rode closer to the mare, but duty pulled her back, she rode with the rest of them to the settlement, but the moment she had them inside safely, she called to Ryheric. "The Horse, I saw it, I have to got".

Alweard sat in the shade of a tree, hidden behind a curtain of willow-fronds. The rush of the nearby stream swallowed up the scratching of his quill as an image took shape: first the contours of cheek and jaw, then the curve of a skull, the bristled edge of a beard. He drew fine lines with a gentle touch, just as familiar to his eye as the lines of his own palm.