The Book of Bark

[Marrin]

Fall 1, 513 AV I strain to write even now, all the life gone from my extremities. I worked hard today, taking down a young bull moose in the lowlands of the land bridge between North Kalea and the rest of Mizahar. Unfortunately the thing was rather heavy, and it was a great strain on me to make it back to camp with my catch. No doubt I’ll be sore tomorrow morning, but I hear that’s how all those odd blue folk in Riverfall build all their muscle, lifting and moving heavy objects around. I wonder if it’s the work that makes them blue, and if I’ll wake up with blue biceps. I doubt as much, but I admit I know little of that masculine race. I ended up creating a makeshift sled to pull the beast through the hills, though my arms refused to aid me in my work. I had to lash the sled to my hips with my belt, holding it close to my body and retaining my movement, lest I slow and collapse on the ground. My legs and arms both feel like gelatin, and I must ask whoever reads this to forgive my poor handwriting at the moment. I promise you later writings will not be such chicken scratch. My name is Marrin, and I’m a hunter for the people of Wind Reach in North Kalea. In case this survives the ages, that’s positioned on the top of the largest mountain in Kalea. I hope that this book will help you understand a bit of our lives here, and perhaps give you a bit of knowledge regarding survival in the Kalean wilds, should you aspire to make your way out here one day. I learned the hard way today that if you tie your traps too loosely, no matter how much bait you toss around your quarry will escape. I found all my traps empty today, the bait gone and the squirrels chattering happily in the trees all around me, laughing at my folly. A word to the wise: always tie your ropes tight. The snares had sprung, that much I could tell, but it seems the squirrels had found a way to wiggle out of them due to my poor ropework. Tricky mongrels, they are. So instead of roast squirrel cooking over the fire, I’ve chopped off one of the antlers of the moose I killed earlier in the day, which is now blackening over th- Note to self, do not use pinecones as a cork to keep the marrow inside of cracked bones while cooking over a fire. They have a tendency to explode when too hot.