Sitting beside the campfire with a deer over the fire, the meat being roasted not only for this meal but also to be packed for the next few days, Nihtwulf scribbles away in his small leather-bound journal.
One thing I will miss when I get to the mark, are the forests of the north, They are not as dark and foreboding as the great ones bordering Rohan, though some of them do hold dangers as well. But mainly the woods up here are just that, woods, trees and plants and animals, without any malice or intent to harm. I would never set camp like now, had it been in the Entwash Vale or the woods of the longears up near Stangard. It wouldn't be safe to camp there.
The sounds are so different in the woods, more muted, yet you also feel the vibrant life that is all around you, from the birds singing in the treetops, to the sound of a squirrel, the rustle of the underbrush as a deer lopes through it. I like forests, like the ones up here. I wonder if such exist in Rohan now, or if even those that may have been present in the south of the kingstead, have become but infestations of orc and other foul creatures.
Five years... I wonder how much has changed?
Closing the journal and stuffing it deep into one of his saddlebags, Nihtwulf makes sure the small vial of ink, and the feather quill are tucked safely away as well. He then takes the deer down from the spit, and strips a few morsels of meat for dinner, also cutting strips of meat to be packed for the days ahead, ere he douses the fire and settles in for the night.
