November 7-9
Dearest Karolus –
It seems as if it has been forever since I last had a chance to sit and write to you, but in truth, it has only been a little more than a week. However, the last few days have felt longer than normal.
We reached the foothills of the mountains only two days after I sent the last letter off with the traveler. I was certain we would need to pass along the foothills and down into the swamps, based on the what I had been witnessing from the crows. Dymek believed, based on the nature of our quest, that we would need to turn into foothills and follow them into the mountains proper. We were both wrong.
The first morning we woke in the foothills, I read the cards. I chose a simple three card layout, just asking for direction – Eight of Cups, Five of Coins, The Moon. You know how I hate major arcana showing up in the small readings, but all three cards spoke of a much longer journey than I had been anticipating. We must walk the distance of the Eight of Cups, endure the hardships of the Five of Coins, and only then will we begin the path of The Moon to our actual destination. But none of this gave me a direction, just a feeling of distance.
Dymek cast the runes. Like me, he got a reading that indicated this would be a longer, more difficult journey than had been anticipated back home in the village, but no direction.
I stared at the cards. The Eight of Cups seemed to indicate that we should walk along the foothills, but not enter the mountains. But the Five of Coins in no way indicates swamps, more like a forest, but none of the maps I had showed a wood. The pattern the runes fell in did not point into the mountains, even though I swear Dymek tried to cast them in such a way. But they also did not indicate my predicted direction.
Dymek and I each stared at our patterns, looked at each other’s, and tried to make sense of it all. But it just felt like we were two mountain goats butting our heads and getting no where. It was Wojciech who managed to provide us with direction, without even realizing it.
I had mentioned that my belief in the direction of our path came from watching the crows. Wojciech had been watching all the wildlife, hunting to supplement the limited food we were able to bring with us. He was the one to notice the hawks. Crows will harass a single hawk, but there was not a single hawk here. There were at least a dozen riding the winds above us.
Nadzia, with her good eyes, spotted the nests. It was a nesting ground for the hawks, and the crows were smart enough not to try and enter. Given that the crow has always been the symbol of our village, perhaps it should have served as a warning to us not to enter, either. But Emilja, ever the practical one, pulled out the statue, the grave good we must now return to its owner, based on the pact made by our ancestors. Wordlessly, she handed it to Dymek, who studied it for a moment then handed it to me. The statue is old and worn, and we have had many conversations about what it once represented. Standing there, holding it in my hands, seeing the hawks soar overhead, I knew the answer.
The Hawks’ nesting grounds stretched into the foothills, curving around with the mountains, but not going into the mountains proper. There is no road, not even a path. Our maps show it as mountains. I had never heard of a hawk nesting ground here. But the evidence was in front of our eyes. Our direction was set.
Our first few days of travel have us within the perimeter of the protected area of the nesting grounds, but not in the nesting area itself. There has been little food for Emilja to gather or Wojciech to hunt. Nadzia is rationing the hay for Aleksy and Aleksa, as well. We have forged paths until they became unpassable and had to backtrack. We spent one afternoon walking in a circle. It has been a slow, and occasionally fractious few days.
But this last morning, Nadzia spotted a nest on top of what seems like the largest needle rock formation in the area. It seems the center of the pattern the hawks (now in the scores) fly. We set that as our “true north”, always keeping it in sight, trying to just keep moving toward it, and seem to have made some progress yesterday.
My watch is near to ending. The sun is near to rising. I must stoke the fire, and get water started for breakfast. Everyone else wrote letters home during dinner or over their watches, and we will be sending these via one of our homing pigeons. I just hope the hawks let it through.
As always, you have all my love.
Sibilia
