By Bronwen Fellward
Day 1 in the Dark Forest - Through the Mist-Shrouded Path
Timber Fox
The mist was thick here, clinging to my boots. I nearly missed it. A fox, but larger than any I have seen, with russet fur gone dark along the legs. It watched me from atop a root, still as stone.
When I moved closer it bolted. I thought that was the end of it. An hour later I found it had circled behind me. It went for my pack, not me. Clever thing. I caught it with my boot as it tore at the straps, and it turned on me with teeth bared.
Quick. Very quick. I have a gash on my calf where it got past my guard.
It fled when I drew blood. They are not brave, but they are patient.
Day 2 - Corridor of Hollow Birches
Forest Raven
The birches here are hollow and silent. I heard them before I saw them. Ravens, but wrong. Too large, their wingspans broader than my arms outstretched.
Three of them sat in the dead branches. They did not flee when I passed. One dove at me from behind. The beak opened a cut across my scalp before I could raise my arm.
They work together. One distracts while another strikes. I killed one and the others scattered, but I am certain they followed me for another mile.
The beak is like iron. I kept it. The wound on my head is still bleeding through the bandage.
Day 4 - At the Crooked Pine
Dark Sprite
A twisted pine, black sap weeping from its bark. I made camp nearby, which was a mistake.
They came at dusk. Small things, no larger than my hand, with bruise-colored skin and wings like dead leaves. One alone would be nothing. There were a dozen.
They scratch and bite and vanish into shadow before you can strike back. I killed three, maybe four. The rest fled when I lit a torch. Fire. They do not like fire.
My arms are covered in tiny cuts. Some have gone red and swollen. I think their claws carry something foul. I cleaned the wounds with spirits but the itching has not stopped.
Day 5 - Thicket of Shadows
Forest Lynx
I never saw it until it was on me.
The brambles here are thick, the shadows strange. I was watching my footing when something hit me from the side. A lynx, spotted and tufted, but heavy as a hunting dog. It had been on a branch above. Waiting.
The claws raked my shoulder before I threw it off. It circled twice, looking for another opening, then vanished into the undergrowth. No sound. Nothing.
I found blood on my blade, so I hurt it. But my shoulder is torn deep. The muscle beneath is visible. I have bound it as best I can.
They do not fight. They ambush. Watch the branches.
Day 6 - Junction by the Hollow Stump
Savage Hound
A great charred stump dominates this clearing. Bones everywhere, picked clean. Something has been using it as a den.
The hound came out when I approached. A massive thing, brindle-coated, with torn ears and old scars. No collar. This was never anyone's pet.
It did not bark or growl. It simply came at me. I have fought wolves, but this was different. It would not stop. I opened cuts along its flank and it kept coming.
Only when I put my sword through its chest did it finally fall.
My forearm is badly bitten. The teeth went to the bone. I can move my fingers, but barely.
Day 8 - The Ash-Covered Dell
Spriggan
Everything here is grey with ash. No birds. No insects. I thought I was alone.
The thing rose from the ground beside a charred stump. I had taken it for a twisted root. Small, hunched, bark-skinned with hollow eyes. A spriggan, though I had thought them legend.
It threw thorns at me. Dozens of them, sharp as needles. Then roots burst from the earth and grabbed my ankle. I hacked myself free and split the creature's skull, but not before the thorns found their marks.
I have pulled nine from my chest and arms. The wounds burn. My ankle is bruised where the root held me.
Day 9 - Edge of a Dark Pool
Will-o'-wisp
A black pool, still as glass. I should not have followed the light.
It appeared at the water's edge. A pale blue glow, floating, drifting deeper into the trees. I knew what it was. I followed anyway, thinking I could learn its nature.
It led me to a bog. When I stumbled, the light came close. It burned where it touched my hand, though there was no heat. Cold, searing cold, straight through my glove to the flesh beneath.
I fled back to solid ground. The light did not follow.
The burn on my palm has blistered black. I do not think this will heal cleanly.
Day 11 - Between the Sentinel Stones
Wild Stag
Two great stones mark a narrow passage. I found the stag beyond them.
It was huge. Gray-brown, with antlers spreading wider than I am tall. Old scrapes marked its neck. This was no prey animal. The eyes that watched me held no fear.
I tried to pass. It charged.
I dove aside and it caught me a glancing blow. The antler tore through my pack and grazed my ribs. I put my blade into its shoulder and it screamed, a sound I will not forget. It fled, crashing through the undergrowth.
My ribs are bruised, perhaps cracked. It hurts to breathe. The pack is ruined.