Fisher gathered his burgeoning supplies. He expressed no emotion and looked quizzically at Yannuvia. Yannuvia only carried a small backpack, but he had a bag of holding within the pack, so he had ample supplies. He removed a longbow from the bag of holding and draped it across his shoulder. Unbeknownst to Fisher, Yannuvia kept an artifact, the Firestone, in his raiment. The wild woods were not a safe place, particularly when one’s companion stood out like a sore thumb. Fisher might blend into a glacier or snowstorm.
“Let’s go,” Yannuvia suggested and walked through the tree.
When the Spellweaver turned he did not see the Mender. Yannuvia reentered the tree and found him standing perplexed within the small guest tree.
“How did I get in the tree? How do I get out? Where it only a little bit darker, I could,” Fisher lamented.
“Fisher, I don’t know how you propagate, but I seriously doubt Dienas and the folks of Lost Sons want you doing it in their guest tree,” Yannuvia said with consternation.
“I do nothing lewd, Spellweaver. I’m not a Kiennite. I only seek a dark place to plant my seed,” Fisher answered. He continued, “And now if you’d be so kind as to show me how to get out of this tree.”
“It’s easy. Just follow in my shadow. I’m sorry. The gray light minimizes my shadow. Just hold onto my cloak,” Yannuvia suggested.
Fisher gingerly grasped the Spellweaver’s cloak and followed Yannuvia through the bark of the red elm.
“Odd sensation. I’d think you’d have trouble with splinters. I’d be good at removing them,” Fisher commented.
“We are one with the trees of the forest, Fisher. Friends don’t give friends splinters. As soon as we leave the confines of Lost Sons, we enter the wild woods. We won’t find many friends,” the Drelve cautioned.
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