Six are the Walking Ways

Journal 2

Gaelen, Son of Kylantha
An Unknown Number of Days

Tired, my world is hazy on the hems and spotty in the middle. My bones ache from sitting on the silt strider. My arm is stiff from guiding him or her. My body longs for the water below which will not quench my thirst. The sun burns.

I think I counted four sunrises, perhaps there was a fifth. But finally the dark one, Fooyada, released me of guiding. I showed her how to guide the simple beast- her dark skin felt the same as mine in my palm. I know there is elf inside her somewhere, we have similar ears and I have heard that her race and my race were one long, long, long ago. Her large hands were quite unskilled in guiding but proved useful in healing, for which we had done to help the wounded Argonian. I had never thought to see one of these scaley people and now that I have, I do not know a thing about them. But now, after four or five days of constant driving, I will sleep. May it be long and deep. I begin to wish for the shade of trees.

The smaller Argonian, Tyria who is kind, woke me. Too soon it felt and so I learned that we had docked at a makeshift camp of merchants. A man in red silk with strange tattoos on his face seemed to be our host. Fooyada seemed to trust the man. She had a made a deal with him; he gets us safely to the next city and we do him a favor once there. I never imagined myself being a mercenary, hired to do the bidding of another- then again I never thought my travels would lead me into the bonds of terrible slavery. We have also gotten rid of our captured foe. I know not his fate. We have left the silt strider behind and have taken boats up the shoals. Three is a lucky number. Again, on the dock of this boat do I sleep. Much longer this time.

In the evening the boats pulled onto the gritty beach of some island. The party, which included another Argonian, made fish and performed a sort of story. The Argonian played a part in which house duties were performed which were apparently funny to the crews. I have read much but have never found humor in housework. I explored the Red Man’s tent and found a cushion quite soft. He had many things which I would like to examine closer, in private. The large Argonian, the imposing one, called me forth from the tent and a strange beast lunged from the shadows. It had the head of an alligator and the feet of some bird. One clamped onto Tyria’s leg. Another went for Natesse, that formidable Bosmer. Fortunately, I carried with me a spare piece of cooked fish and was able to distract the thing with it. I threw the piece into the shadows and rid the party of the beast. Meanwhile, the other was killed. We returned to the boat to sleep.

In the morning, we set sail once again and passed the day as best as we could. No one has any books to read- I find myself lacking stimulus. Often I stare at the water rushing by and catch a reflection in the water. It seems as though these past two days have taken their toll on my face. Dark circles encase my eyes as I attempt to regain the strength I lost. We are coming upon a city soon and I will be glad to be stationary.

The city is wonderful. Y’ffre has blessed this strange land. There are no trees but the people have made their homes in the giant mushrooms which guard the skyline. One towers above the rest- a mushroom to rival the trees of Valenwood. Fooyada tells me that the people here grow their homes by guiding the plants into the shapes they take. This is a gift from Y’ffre. I shall find kinship in this city I believe. The sights of the port at dusk refill my hope that Y’ffre has not left me, nor I him. I am not abandoned.

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