I have been stuck in this hornbeam for two days now and am beginning to get in a foul mood because the storm has only intensified and has not slacked off at all. I feel a good deal like a fool for being so cowardly and not facing the storm and continuing in my travels, but the world is simply a mess of mud and slog right now. Writing in my journal is even treacherous because of the threat of rain seeping onto the pages and running my writing into a muddy blur. I must go out now and see what food I can forage in this deluge. Already much of my dried foods have been ruined. One thing I am certain of, I will not turn back to Dumarken, I will weather this obstacle and continue on my present course to Drakksford, as soon as the weather permits.

In the meantime, I am happy to sleep in this rotten tree stump.

- Hollas Dillan, March 9th, Twelfth Year of Enru

It has been extremely windy as of late and I feel a storm coming on. It is yet still quite early in the Spring, indeed, it isn't even out of Winter yet, but a warm, moist breeze is blowing fiercely now and there will be rain soon. I must find Shelter.

-Hollas, March 8th, Tweflth Year of Enru

Well, here I am. I have found an ancient hornbeam a slight jog off the path into the woods and it has a nice-sized hollow in it. I think I will end up spending the night here. Well, my first day of trekking down the path passed uneventfully. The woods and the world is quiet. Dumarken used to have a regular trade route along this path with Drakksford, but that was a long time ago. I haven't so much as seen or heard of another human being. I was under the impression that there were homesteads and farms out in the rural lands, but that seems to not be the case. In any event, there is a certain beauty about being totally alone and answerable to no one. It is liberating, if intoxicating.

Oh yes, I must continue my account of Daanli. So, there I was, as eager as any child would be for adventure, on the ship sailing for the mainland. I remember being ecstatic as we embarked from Twildenshire and took the 12 hour voyage to Dumarken. We set sail in the predawn hours and reached the mainland in time for supper. I slept through a good 4 hours of the first part, and then I was wide awake, scrambling up and down the deck bothering all of the sailors with questions and begging them to let me work the rigging. Daanli remained holed up below deck, I suspected that he might not like boats too much anymore after washing up half-dead in that catamaran.

At about midday, I began to get bored, so I went below to visit with Daanli. "Hello Purkwil," he said. He had odd nicknames for all of the children who came to the jail to ask him questions of the outside world. He used to tell us in his garbled, halting language, bizarre and fantastic tales, all of which had a horrbly tragic ending. He told us they weren't true, except for the one about his travels from the land beyond the sun.

"Did Me tell you of Quafflos yet?" he said, with an odd grin on his face.
"No, no I don't remember that one, Mr. Daanli, sir. Would you tell it?" With the same haunting grin on his wrinkled face, he said, "Of course Purkwil, you are favorite to me. Don't tell others, Purkwil, us: me and you secret."

Daanli then proceeded to tell me the tale of a land far to the North in the world. A land in which there resided giants who could step from island to island as though they were no more than stones in a stream. It was a fascinating tale, filled with adventures... but he left off at the point where the hero reached the country of the giants. I found myself wondering back then if he'd been making the story up on th spot, but he insisted that it was a true story. I asked him then if he'd finish it for me... but he only cocked his head and smiled that same disconcerting grin at me and said, "In time, Purkwil, in time. Perhaps you come to visit me some time, no?" I nodded my head slowly, realizing it may be many years before I would be able to visit the shore again. "You take good care of you now, and take good care of this." he said, and slipped a rolled-up scroll of leather through the window of his cell door to me. I took the scroll and unfurled it, and saw that it contained a crudely drawn, and quite incomplete map of my island, and the mainland. It detailed the cliffs and mountains, and named a desert to the north and a small town situated on the edge of it. Beyond, there lay a large expanse of sand and then some strange symbols and pictures of what looked to be trees forming a forest. The coastlines stretched off and ended without completing themselves. Obviously this map was the work of a skilled, but unknowledgeable cartographer.

"Keep good care of it, Purkwil. Keep good care and you see me again. You see me again in time."

I am beginning to get tired, and this rain shows no signs of abating. I think I shall retire for the night now. Until tomorrow, journal.

- Hollas Dillan, March 8th, Twelfth Year of Enru

Today dear journal I am at last setting out Northward down the small pastoral path out of town. I would have written yesterday for you but I was detained by the fact that I was painfully low on funds, and only 4 days from home already! So I took a one day job unloading frigates at the small harbor. It was hard labor, but I am glad for the work since now I have more funds to use for supplies at my next stop, which I aim to be Drakksford, a small settlement near the end of the Moss Dunes and the beginning of the Kohash Desert. Also the hardship has served to prepare me for the journey ahead, which is over a whole range of mountains and across a stretch of treacherous, sandy dunes. Drakksford is located on a small river that comes out of the mountains and flows inland for a ways before turning east and running to the coast. The village is actually on the confluence of two small rivers, the Kohash-Eldi and the Moss.

How do I know all this? Simple, Daanli told me. Of course, I must pause here and explain my rather unique and complex relationship with Daanli. It has to do with my past, you see, and so I’d better get it out of my system so that future readers of this journal will have all of the facts from a first-hand source.

Daanli came to my island by way of a catamaran from over the sea to the South. He came in the First Year of Enru, washing up on our shore on June 16th. I was only 10 years old at the time. His skin is much darker than my own, and at first glance appears to be at least 70 years old. In truth, he was only 51 when he came to Twilden Isle. He spoke no Freespeech and had no money that our local merchants accepted. In fact, the eldest man in Twildenshire, Uliphas, said he’d never seen or heard of any men before who were like Daanli. Since nobody could communicate or seem to form any bonds with the man, he was turned over to the island wise men and authorities to educate him and then glean what information they could out of him before sending him off back to wherever he came from. No one particularly trusted this strange man, and especially nobody with kids. But the children all loved him, and got along so well with him, whenever they were exposed to his presence, usually on the way from the island jail to the council chambers of the elders. The island jail really wasn’t a jail; it just served as one when necessary. Actually, it was a rather cozy little Guest House, if any guests, family members, relatives or close friends should come to visit. But mostly, there were few comings and goings from the Isle, and people kept to themselves.

(This entry was cut off in the journal, since a page was torn out behind it. However, I did an extensive online search earlier in the winter of book collector sources and returned to England briefly, being able to recover not the missing page, but an actual hand-copied print of the journal. Now I have two versions of it, entirely identical in every respect, aside from the missing page.)

*Here the tale of Daanli took an unexpected turn* When he had learned enough of our language to provide a sufficient account of how he came to wash up on our shores, he simply replied that he was borne over the "wave of bright fire" and deposited on our Isle. He proceeded then to tell of how he was once a high prince in his native land, a huge city beyond the sun, and that he had been betrayed and sent here as punishment in exile. He said that a curse had been laid on him and he needn't stay amongst us for fear of bringing down the wrath of the Gods. Needless to say this distraught our town Elders since Daanli was obviously an adherent to some pagan culture that may practice magick and sorcery. So they gave him what he wanted: safe passage to the mainland. But they did so under the condition that he must never return to our Isle or have any contact with anyone visiting the mainland from our Isle. He consented and then left us forever.

But while the strange story of Daanli ends there for most of the village folk, for me it contains one more chapter. My father was one of the more prominent wise men of the town, being very young, yet also highly accomplished, he was chosen to accompany Daanli to the mainland and see that he settled in somewhere safely out of sight. He allowed me to tag along.

-Oh dear, time has gotten away from me. I will continue this entry tomorrow, but for now I must set out northward on the path.

-Hollas, March 7th, Twelfth Year of Enru

ds

I have done some extensive exploration of Dumarken today journal, after waking up feeling much better. Instead of finding a doctor yesterday in my pained state, I stumbled into an Herbal Shop and purchased some all-natural remedies which worked suprisingly well. I think I shall make a return visit to stock up on medicinal herbs and flavoring spices for my upcoming trek.

Ahh yes, I have decided which direction to set off in. This morning I went up to the top of the Old Wooden Clock Tower to see what I could in all directions with a set of ocular magnifiers I recieved as a present from Mother. There wasn't much to view to the East except the open sea, dotted here and there with a few, high, rocky atolls. To the South rose the Crescent Mountain, not really a mountain, just a large, jutting piece of rock that curled up to form the tip of the cape, behind it the ocean waves were crashing against the veritble wall of rock faintly. To the West, I could see the Furthingway winding off into the wooded hills that formed up on the edge of the grassy cliffs that overlooked the ocean on the right. And to the North, ah, to North! The wooded hills rolled on and grew into rocky slopes that led upward to the peak of Durrow Mountain. This was more like a real mountain, and only a small dirt path led the way towards it. Beyond, I knew must be the first creeping tendrils of the Moss Dunes, which would eventually segue into the arid Kohash Desert. I resolved that going back to sea would be a silly thing at this juncture, and heading back up the cape would just lead me invariably to a cliff from which I could glimpse the foggy outline of my home island, a place which I didn't miss in the least yet. To the North it would be, then. I would be sure to acquire several large flasks and canteens to hold my water and also look for some sturdy cloak that would keep me safe from the blowing sand and grit that is sure to exist in the desert.

And so now I have found those things and am taking a rest before having supper at the Downy Duck, a quaint seeming little restaurant that serves the tastiest noodles, so I'm told. Well, the stomach calls!

- Hollas Dillan, March 5th, Twelfth Year of Enru