I never thought a sunset could look so beautiful. Though even to the river’s edge the gloom of the Nanten persists, over the water there is a long clear patch of sky. The clouds were sparse tonight and the sunlight that played off of them made my heart ache. Gold, pinks, and purples. More colors than I ever thought I could appreciate so deeply.
I miss the open sky more tonight than I did the entire time we trudged on without it, able to see it even as I write.
Graylag lies just a few miles to our south. At least there stand the ruins of an ancient city, and they are inhabited by a large number of savages.
I have never been so hesitant to approach a population as I find myself today. We have seen so few over the last forty days. Most of our time is spent alone in this sanctuary of green. What few encounters we have had keep me from wanting any more, especially with the KoraKora.
I still shudder to think of those fierce cannibals. I never knew I could hate something and fear it so strongly, even compared to my loathing of the Daedra. But regardless of whatever their “unsavory practices” may be, I do not wish to deal with any Nantese at the moment.
It doesn’t help that the people of Graylag are thieves and murderers in their own right. Will this be a city with commerce and a permanent settlement, or an encampment on the move? We will approach tonight to scout it out. Once we have done our best to gather more information we will return during the day.
There is a variation in the trees across the river. Those we have grown accustomed to still dominate the landscape, but there are a variety of shorter ones that grow among large spaces left between them. It makes me wonder what other changes we will find as we move deeper into the Nanten.
This development with the river is a blow, that of its sporadic boiling. The ability to use it as a path through the jungle could save us days, even weeks of travel. We need to do what we can to discover the regularity of the occurrences, and perhaps move between instances. However, if yesterday was any indication, there may not be a reliable pattern.
I do not want to continue through this jungle on foot. Gods, how I hate it. If only there were roads, horses, even carts in which we could ride. I catch myself dreaming of such things at night as I lay on my fraying mat. Just the feel of a saddle under me and the pressure of a horse against my legs.
I never thought I could hate marching more than I did.
I certainly can, and I most certainly do.