You look down at the scroll with the tip of your finger guiding the illustration. It almost seems impossible as you’re also worrying about falling off of Strix. You concentrate hard, slowly outlining a lyrebird along the scroll. Soraya watches as you change the color of the ink for a more precise drawing.

“Now’s not the time to elaborate! Just finish it!” Soraya calls out.

You pant as you try to keep up with Soraya’s pace. Having grown up mostly in the city, the dense forests of Borozon are a nightmare for you to travel through under normal circumstances. But tearing through them while fearing for your friend’s life is near impossible, and your sense of direction is all but gone…

…in front of you stands a giant frog, though calling it such is a gross understatement. It is impossibly tall and built more akin to a mountain than an amphibian, with limbs the width of grain silos. Its hide is mottled with lumps the size of huts and there are all sorts of aquatic plants and trees that grow from its skin. You watch in terror as its throat bulges like a hot air balloon, and the creature unleashes a croak so devastatingly loud that the ground shakes and you are left with a tinny ringing in your ears.

“So, your mother’s artifact is a heron’s egg?” Burt asks, gingerly lifting the hem of his cloak as he treads through mud.

“Well, that’s what Maeflorian thinks,” Soraya replies. She alone seems unbothered by the oppressive humidity and ankle-deep quagmire you find yourself traversing as the party makes its way east of Maeflorian’s treehouse. “And not any old heron’s egg. Hers was the egg of the Skullpicker. Maeflorian seems to think that the hatching of the egg will bring great fortune to the bearer.”

Your body feels warm, but not from the fireplace, where the wood gently crackles and pops. The warmth comes from inside you. As you and Burt become glued to the crochet couch, the hieroglyphics on the walls begin to move. These symbols aren’t scattered randomly throughout the cottage; they tell a story. As you stare at the iconography across the walls, trees and plants begin overtaking everything around you. Is this the Eastern Forest? As the moments pass, the images you were studying become reality, and you find yourself a part of the very story you were just reading…

The Wandering Brook, which flows into Spirit Lake from the north, meanders through valleys of lush emerald fields of trees and shrubbery. You and Burt have been following Soraya for almost half a day, with Burt surprisingly keeping quiet. However, Burt has been constantly giving you silent warnings about Soraya. The water bird you summoned found a great spot to rest in the hood of your cloak. The extra member of the group does not appear to be a burden, resting gently the entire journey. You’ve become quite fond of it…