Elowin performs a ritual incantation over
Princess, revealing that the veteran caravaneer has contracted a sleeping sickness from the biting insects in the mire.
The rest of that day is spent trundling downslope away from the Nubetanya mountains. The next day finds the caravan reaching Plackett's Bridge, a wide structure formed from squared-off logs dragged up from the Greenwold a century ago and mounted on stone pilings set every 10 yards or so in the bank of the Sowkalt River. At this time of year, the current is strong and the river is lapping the pilings just under the logs, making it seem almost as if the logs are floating on the water itself. There are a few people lounging around here, watching the water. Seeing the party begin to bristle, Dugal waves a hand to the others, puts a reassuring hand on Princess' arm before she can take any hostile action and says
"Don't worry; these fellas hain't a problem. Useful, mebbe. I'll have a little chat." The dwarf hands the reins to
Princess and hops down to chat with one of them while
Princess reins in the horses and Gavath takes their bridles and maneuvers them to line up with the bridge, which is just wide enough for these wagons to pass. The Drakall in ancient times ordained a standard size for wagons, and it's clear that these standards remain, observed as traditions that wagoners have passed down for dozens of generations.
As the wagons pull past, Dugal talks with a dwarf and they amble along, walking on foot across the bridge deep in conversation. It's a tight sqeeze, but the two of them are just able to walk shoulder-to-shoulder next to the wagons. Dugal shakes the dwarf's hand, slips him some coin, and climbs back onto the buckboard. Once all the wagons have crossed, he pulls up to a stop, stands on the buckboard, and waves so his arms can be seen above the wagon's cover.
"Welcome to the Greenwold!" The place he chose to stop has a wonderful view of gently descending valley to the south (left), and heavily-wooded hills to the north (right).
That night around the campfire, Dugal shares what he learned.
"That was Dunc Pickirk, who's traveled these roads for longer than I've been alive. He heard tell from a rider that came through yesterday that there was another caravan that was expected at Grayhaven that never arrived. Weren't as well-defended as we are, though. Too, could be tall tales, certain."
Giving some of
Elowin's herbal ministrations seems to have done the trick; after half a day of descending into the Greenwold,
Princess has blessedly fully recovered from her brief bout of sickness.
You hardly thought her reserved before, but now that you've spent a week together, Swelvie tells stories, dances, and sings each night. And drinks. Wow, does she drink.
Findal reveals that he is the latest in a long line of Findazzles, and he is surprised to find that no one in the party recognizes his family.
"Fin...Findazzle is a known gnome name!" he insists, slightly tipsy with Swelvie's generosity one night. He has a lot of dry tales about ancient history; sadly, he is not nearly the storyteller that either Swelvie or
Princess is. But in hanging around the gnome sage,
Bram and
Morik learn that his particular focus is on ancient magic, particularly the history of spells across the different realms.
