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Midwinter – ten weeks of snow.

I suppose I should have expected it, but this Elder Henge is a ranger waystation, and for the last few days I have enjoyed the company of a patrol of rangers who have been tracking Gloomspawn through the woods. I told them of my own journey, and of the Gloomtree that I saw. They didn't believe me at first but when I showed them the picture I drew they fell silent. It seems that I was lucky to escape from the shadow of that tree with only nightmares.

Out of respect for the secrecy of their order I will not make note of the rangers names, nor their gentim, lest this journal fall into the hands of Gloomspawn, which, I am warned, are still roaming these woods. Goblins, and worse. I feel very small, in a world that seems to grow larger with every step I take. I don't regret having begun this journey but I feel somewhat ashamed at the naivety with which I set out, ignorant of the dangers of travelling alone, even through a land protected by the Brightsong.

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