As I reached again the foot of the mountain, the snow had turned to rain, which covered much of the landscape in a foggy mist. My eyes again came across the hill covered in dead trees, and I chose that would be my next destination.
The land was covered with inclines and declines, something that the goats in this region seem to have adapted to. The path leading towards the hill was covered in dead branches, and small patches of foliage just barely emerging. The hill was surrounded by a ring of trees, much like the others I have seen so far. Only near the top of the hill were the trees singed by an old flame.
As I approached the hill, the desolation became evident to me. A pack of wargs could be seen lurking among the 
dead trees and burned bushes. At first I had thought this hill was destroyed by a lightning strike, or perhaps some foolish travelers who failed to extinguish their campfire, but something about it made me think this place was the stage of some great tragedy. Surely it was not a place I should dwell in any longer, and I went on my way.
Leaving the hill from the southern side, I found myself in Nan Sirannon. The landscape became more and more rocky. The vales dug deeper, and the hills rose higher. A dried up riverbed cut through the hills.
After I crossed the riverbed, I found many more Dunlending wanderers, as well as a larger settlement. It worried me that so many of these wild men were making their way north. As I can nw see, they are perhaps our greatest threat from the south.
