Soldes 18, 5679

As I mentioned previously, we’ve spotted signs of a large predator in the area. We’ve passed several carcasses over the past few days. We can no longer convince the others that the animals died of natural causes. All are gruesome messes, and some have very visible tracks in the area. The tracks are lobed like those of a large bird or lizard. However, none of us has ever seen a creature large enough to make these tracks, let alone a bird or reptile of that size. Tora’Sor said she knows what the beast is, but refuses to tell the rest of us. She just hopes we never encounter it. I could make a guess, but the prospect is frightening.

Niahla’Sen seems to be growing anxious as we progress farther along this valley. She wants to find her father, even if it’s just his remains, and each day is supposed to bring us closer to that goal. None of us knows what to expect, however, since Zhethou’s announcement that Niahla’Sen will find what she seeks made no mention of her father’s status. Still, we try to maintain hope the man is alive. I doubt Zhethou would send us searching if the alternative were true.

Getting Kellon to tell a story is easy. Getting him to tell one about himself is hard. However, we managed to get him to tell a story today of how he managed to be hired by the Council of Adaptive Writing and Publishing. The organization apparently refused his request to work for them on several occasions. They finally hired him when he said he could write several volumes on the reasons why he deserved to work for them. Fortunately, the organization never asked him to make good on that offer. Niahla’Sen said it was the first time she’s heard about this, and teased that she’d see about convincing someone to request the volumes of qualifications. Kellon said the organization already told him they wouldn’t require it of him. There is a society within the organization that includes the wordiest authors, and they decided they don’t want him added to their ranks. Because of this, the organization actually placed a limit on the length of anything Kellon writes. He hasn’t yet felt rebellious enough to break it.