I've entered the thicket. Plenty of cover, but too much mud — I'm leaving footprints. I miss the solid, rocky mountain paths and kicking pebbles down chasms to wait for the echo. A strange odor hangs over the bog. Foul and fermented, it reminds me of the distilleries near Howling Pike. I decided to avoid Glennwood's End... Too much activity and I taste copper in the water... Bad omens. I'll drift away from here as soon as possible.

A comforting heat emanates from the rocks so I won't need a fire tonight. I hear them in the distance, searching, howling. It's the wind that carries their madness my way, a draft from the mines. What are they digging for? Their screams rip through the night and scare away all prey. I'm starving. Should I have stocked up on resources when I was near Glennwood's End? No. The whole place reeks of blood and betrayal. I know the scent well. I'll walk with hunger in my heart if I must.

Finally, fresh air. Not heavy with the scent of pollen or sweet, sickening decay. My head spins. I haven't slept in days. Not since I left my spindle in the Revelwood atop that cliffside. So far away now... but I can't turn back. I had to flee. Something sinister is buried in that thicket... spreads through the undergrowth like roots. It embraces and entangles, squeezes and suffocates. Shimmering in the darkness, between the branches, under the skin: the silky web of a two-clawed hunting spider. Nightmares like these are forged by man, I've learned.