As was suspected the mountain was treacherous. The storm came in fast. Even Tron struggled against the wind. Had I not found a small alcove covered by the snow we would have frozen.
They had blue lips. All of them. They were going to die out there but fire and a little mental persuasion kept them going. They were willing to give up some of their most useful items to burn to keep the fire going, hardy folk. Huddled in the small cave we spent the night in close proximity. Watching torches and oil-soaked ropes burn.
We should carry some wood for burning.
Last night I thought we would die. But, by sunrise, the storm had passed and the crisp clear air gave us an unclouded view of The Valley below. From up there, it looked peaceful, calming, an almost adventurous place for us to explore. The Glass Lake glistened so, I am sure we could have seen our reflections in it. On the far side of the lake lay The Dark Wood, an ominous smear in the freshly dropped snow.
The march down was quick. Even The Girl had a spring in her step. The sun can bring positive energy
But the Lake changed that. As we stood on the shore it gave an eerie presence. A power beneath the surface. Tron did not like it. He said he heard screams and horrific sounds coming from below but Tron is a monster. His perceptions can be distorted. The Bird and The God Botherer heard something different. Some loving memory from their past.
I do not like this.
We have camped in from lakes shoreline amongst the trees. The others can still hear to the lake calling them to it. Like moths to a flame.
Trondryll wants me to call him Tron. He is very strange. He has still not shown me his true form.
Very strange.
The emblem on the cultists carry still eludes me and The Little One continues to cook in his own pot. And not offer his food.
The night is dark and I have the late watch.
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