22 Ches 1489

On the road from Welton towards the Spine of the World.

I had every intention of breaking away from these men, now that Welton is protected, and returning to my search for those in need.

And yet, here I find myself camped with them. For what reason, I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps I truly have been lonelier than I realized. Perhaps I’ll be able to earn a bit more money with a group, allowing me to help even more eventually. At any rate, it will be good to see the Wall again.

The Spine of the World is dangerous, treacherous land, but it is beautiful. There is a trade city of Luskan, just south of the Wall at the mouth of the Mirar. The view of the Spine from there is astounding; it’s also where I first encountered a member of the Emerald Enclave.

I’d been tracking some wolves at the northern edge of Neverwinter Wood for a few days. By happenstance, I came upon a man being attacked by them – or perhaps he was attacking them. He was a short, bearded Human – wild red hair, holding his own against this pack. He moved fluidly, and the quarterstaff he used had a faint greenish mist about it; almost looked to be actively sprouting leaves and other growth.

Not wanting to distract him, nor lose my quarry, I nocked an arrow. Taking aim at the largest wolf, I muttered under my breath, “Sacuvanye lé” – “I will pursue you” in Common – just as my father taught me so many years ago. He always said it would help me maintain my concentration on my target. As I said the words, the wild man looked _straight_ at me. There is no possible way he heard me from 100 feet away, and yet he immediately knew I was there.

I loosed the arrow, which felled the wolf. Then another. Soon the rest scattered.

After exchanging thanks and pleasantries, the man introduced himself as Argyle, a druid representing this “Emerald Enclave.”

When I asked how he knew I was there, he gave me a funny look.

> “Boy, you cast a spell. I felt the magic. How do you think I knew?”

My father never knew anything of spells or magic – not that I was aware of at least. However, Argyle explained it was actually a very common spell, especially among the Rangers of Fearûn, known as the “Hunter’s Mark.”

As it would turn out, several of the hunting, shooting, and survival skills my father taught me were actually deeply rooted in the magic of nature. He had never presented them that way, however, so I was taken aback. I still had much to learn, apparently.

Magic or not, those skills had served me well. Argyle would continue to be an excellent advisor and close friend for decades before passing from this world. Because of him, I have found a wanderer’s home in the Emerald Enclave.

I miss you, brother. For expanding my respect for nature, my knowledge of this world – and of myself – I will be forever grateful.