Slept surprisingly well last night. I guess part of my mind finally accepted there’s no danger in here. At least no physical danger although I guess madness lurks behind every tree looking for a chance to pounce. I doubt I’d last long without Armbranch to talk to. When we lit a fire to warm ourselves this morning, he asked again about the medium. He said if she’s genuinely able to contact our spirit world, she might get some information about what happened in the house.

I’ll admit a part of me is still struggling with the idea of this Mrs Daidogan visiting our house. What will she do? Will she bring an ouija board, Tarot cards, or maybe a crystal ball? I doubt it. When I did an Internet search on her all I found were a number of testimonials from people she’d helped. She doesn’t sound like the ‘Tarot’ type. No. She comes across as more of a spiritual person who doesn’t charge for her services and is well regarded by those who know her.

Another, less sceptical part, dares wonder if she might even be able to contact Maya. Armbranch shot that idea down quickly when I mentioned it. Contact through gateways was impossible, he said. Spirits have their own gateways. And they don’t lead into different worlds.

That puzzled and disturbed me. I didn’t push him about it. For now it’s enough to hope this woman might help in some small way.

Last night, for the first time in my life I understood the phrase ‘perfect darkness’. We kept a fire going for a few hours to dry my clothes and ease the damp from my bones. Instead of cheering me, it depressed me. The firewood we scrounged outside burned grudgingly, the flames low, the reflections drab. The warmth was more like a stale breath from a dying beast than heat from a fire. We didn’t talk much. We simply sat around the fire and watched the flames struggle.

Shortly after the fire died away, I slept for a few hours. When I awoke I needed to relieve myself urgently. Don’t know why. I didn’t drink that much last night. I figure it was probably nervous tension that caused it. When I fumbled my way to the cave mouth, I saw absolutely nothing, not even a glimmer of a star or a moonlit reflection anywhere.

Blind. That’s what it felt like. Yes. And in a deeper way than any physical sense. It was easy to imagine there was another world out there, a busy, active world that was far beyond any human sight or sense. A world closed off to me. Something happened here. Something terrible, and a part of it was still playing out in the darkness.

In a brutal, terrifying way, that darkness was almost beautiful. I don’t believe I was ever as afraid of the dark as I was in those few minutes I stood at the cave mouth. I relieved myself at the back of the cave. Armbranch mumbled something, but I think he was asleep. He didn’t comment when he saw the pool of urine this morning. I’m sure he understood.

We ventured into the jungle early. Yet, no matter how high the sun rose above the canopy, this place stayed as dark as night. Ever tree, plant, leaf, and stem, is stained black. Either that or its their natural colour because they’re not dead and preserved that way. On the few occasions I dared break a branch a tar like sap oozed out and stuck so hard to my fingers I had to scrape it off with a knife.

It stinks in here, too, stinks of compost and damp earth. In and oddly comforting sort of way I welcome the stink because it’s natural and identifiable.

Shortly after three it got so dark we were forced to stop and make camp in a cluster of trees about thirty yards off the main trail. There’ll be no fire tonight. No. We’ll have nothing but darkness and imagination for company.

I asked O’Heir to contact the medium, a Mrs Daidogan. She’s coming to Singleton Cottage the day after tomorrow. I spent a while trying to explain the concept of a medium to Armbranch. He seemed bemused at first, like I was telling him about something he took for granted in this world. After a while I felt foolish talking about séances and the paranormal. Contact with spirits? Ha. I guess he’s been making contact with spirits all through our journey –especially with the ‘wind above the trees’.

He’s asleep now, and I’m taking first watch. I can’t see him in the dark. I hear him. He’s making a snoring sound I’ve never heard before.

I wonder if he’s dreaming. If so, I hope it’s a pleasant one.

We’ve reached the third valley and have camped in a cave along the fringe of jungle that crams the valley floor wall to wall. It’s much worse here than I expected. Everything: the trees, bushes, rock, and soil beneath our feet, is stained charcoal black. Even the shadows seemed different, darker, like they were stretching, clinging together, and merging into a single great web.

The cave mouth was blended so well into the shadows Armbranch stumbled upon it by accident. It stretches back for about fifty feet and, though there’s no exits or signs it’s been used by anything, it didn’t ease the knot in my gut a bit. No. Sheltering in here is like sheltering in the shadow of a monster.

Something terrible happened in this valley, something that spilled out into the second valley because, for the final mile or so before we left it, the vegetation was so stunted and sparse we had to crouch to keep ourselves hidden. By the time we reached the end of the valley and started to climb again, there was no vegetation at all. Only rocks.

I’m almost afraid to look in on Maya now in case this darkness is contagious and somehow spreads back there. Armbranch hasn’t said much since we found the cave. He’s deep in thought about where we go next. Okay, so there’s still a trace of a path we can follow. But to where? The valley’s about ten or twelve miles long and runs straight into a rock wall.

Was the ‘wind above the trees’ correct about this route? From here, it’s impossible to know. All I see through the binoculars is that black, featureless rock. There’s nothing to suggest it’s anything other than a dead end.

We’re going to light a fire. The passage in through the rock is angled in such a way as to block any reflection from being seen from outside and Armbranch figures that the darkness will camouflage the smoke drifting out. Right now, I don’t really care if anything sees us. If there’s life out in that jungle (and I doubt it) it would probably have seen us already.

All I want is a fire.

Even when I was off shift I barely slept last night. Too cold. Too damp. Too exposed. At one point I woke Armbranch and tried to convince him to push on to the third valley. He talked me out of it. Said it was too risky in the dark. And even though I couldn’t understand his reasoning because this place is so lifeless, I didn’t argue. He’s probably right. In fact, I’m sure he’s right. God only knows what’s lurking about this place at night. At times I thought I heard things in the distance: panting, the snap of a branch, a faint squeal. Things hunting. Things watching. Yes. Maybe things waiting for us to leave ourselves vulnerable.

At one point I thought I heard a scratching coming from the boulder, like there was something on or behind it. Then again, it could well have been my imagination.

Shortly after Armbranch came on the final guard duty shift, I spent a few restless hours thinking about O’Heir’s medium. A few months ago I’d have laughed at the idea, told him that perhaps we’d have better fun with a football than a crystal ball. Now, though, I’ll try anything. What harm? He knows this woman well. He didn’t say what she’d helped him with before, but, whatever it was, it built a relationship of trust between them he swears by.

A pale ball of sun is rising behind the clouds now. It does little except cast shadows around this place. Even the mountains are confined behind a semi-gloom, a grimness that warps beauty into ugliness and colours into shadow.

Time to push on. We’ll eat later, once we’re clear of the valley. I only hope the environment ahead is friendlier.

We left the cave early this morning under cover of darkness. It was risky crossing the rocks in the dark, but we made it into the second valley without incident. There isn’t much here to cheer us. It’s cold and damp and the vegetation is so low and spartan in places it wouldn’t be hard for anyone or anything to spot us from either end of the valley.

At least we can see what progress we make, though. We’re only a few miles from the entrance to the third valley and we’re sheltering for the night in the lee of a great boulder that must have broken away from the cliff face long ago.

My clothes are damp and we don’t dare light a fire. But at least we’re out of that cave. I didn’t like it there. There was something about that shaft, something deeper than any distance which made the hair stand on my arms whenever I thought about it.

I won’t use the laptop for long either in case the damp gets into it.

I think it’s going to be a long night.

Still in the cave. Hiding now. Fire’s out and we’re watching the jungle below. Just as we were leaving this morning I spotted movement at the foot of the V leading into the second valley. Three creatures passed through it and made their way confidently down the path and into the undergrowth. They weren’t big, no more than four of five feet high. But there was something about the way they moved so steadily that scared me. They didn’t dislodge as much as a single rock.

I followed their progress through the binoculars. They were dressed in what looked like skins that completely covered their bodies. Their faces were covered with a cloth headdress that fell about their shoulders like a mane with nothing to see through except a slit. Each had a wicker basket slung over their backs. That cheered me. I don’t know why. Maybe I just thought that if they were off to gather something from the forest it might give us time to push on unnoticed.

We don’t know where they went. For all we know they might have spotted us and are waiting for us to emerge from the cave before… well, I don’ t know what they might want. All I know is that we should play it cautious. Armbranch agrees. We’ll stay another night here. If nothing happens we’ll leave just before dawn and make a break for the second valley.

Solved one other mystery, the mystery of the face. I left the cave first. When I looked back Armbranch’s features had grown to fill the cave mouth. It was like looking at him through a huge magnifying glass. His distorted face filled the cave mouth from wall to wall. When he saw me looking back he smiled and his mouth spread as wide as the cave.

There’s a web of energy (or something) spread across the cave mouth that amplifies any images passing out through it into monstrous proportions. And I was glad of it. If we hadn’t stayed a while to goof around with it we’d have been half way down the slope when the creatures entered the valley and they’d have surely seen us.

Knowing this makes it all the easier to stay another night here. Whatever was behind that face I saw last night could have been as big as an elephant or as small as a mouse.

I’m happy enough to think about the latter. A mouse creature. Yes. That’s all that lives in here. That’s all I want to know.

Did some exploring last night. We ventured back several hundred yards into the cave until the floor dropped away into a vertical shaft. Despite my curiosity, I was glad we couldn’t go any farther. All I kept thinking about was that face in the cave mouth and where it might have come from. And it was a face. I’m sure of that. No matter how Armbranch mumbled about shadows, I know what I saw. It had features. It had a mouth, a nose, and a chin.

And those big, wide eyes. They looked like the eyes of a nocturnal creature. I guess, deep down, Armbranch was thinking the same thing because he insisted we sleep in shifts again and keep the fire high and bright. I didn’t argue. That shaft was deep. We didn’t need to drop a rock down there to know it. We just sensed it. And its walls were so rough and craggy it looked easy enough for anything to climb up out of it.

We passed a quiet night, though. I managed to sleep a little and when I awoke I felt fresh and relaxed. Despite the gloom, there was no sense of menace in the cave. No. Sheltering here felt something similar to sleeping in the birds’ nests. Something did use this place. But whatever it was, it didn’t need this space just now.

O’Heir made an odd suggestion to me this morning. At least it sounded odd when he first mentioned it. Now I’ve had time to think about it, it doesn’t sound odd at all. He wants to bring a medium in on this. He knows a woman who helped him a few times before that could be useful in tracing whatever emerged from the tunnel. If I agree to it, of course. I don’t know what to think. I trust him implicitly. But a medium? I’ll have to think about that.

Time to push on now.

We’re in the cave. We’ve got a fire lit and it’s almost comfortable here. I say almost because the cave goes back deep and we’ve no idea what might be in there. We’re going to do a little exploring later. At least there’s no animal sign here and it smells dry and dusty, just like a cave should smell like.

Saw the damndest thing when we were climbing up here. It was like the entire cave mouth briefly became a face, a shallow, humanlike face that appeared to stretch outward a few feet before fading away.

Armbranch thought he saw something, too. He didn’t dwell on in, just murmured something about night shadows moving with the moonlight.

We’ve reached the end of the valley. But we haven’t left the undergrowth. It’s dusk and Armbranch is wary of leaving at dusk. I don’t know why. All I can think of is that dusk is a favourite time for predators to take advantage of the bad light. Not that he mentioned anything about predators when I asked. If anything, he seemed bemused. He just said he wanted to scout along the edge of the forest for a bit.

He’s off scouting now. I hope he’s not gone long. This silence here is really giving me the jitters.

The path leads upwards to the V of the next valley. It appears steep, but not as long. Perhaps no more than a two mile climb. And I can’t help hoping that the next valley might be more welcoming. If only I could hear the song of a bird or hum of insect I’d feel more grounded to reality instead of this dreamy, unreal quiet. Actually, I’d be happy enough to hear anything right now no matter what it sounded like.

At times, when I’m alone here it’s easy for my mind to wander and try to convince me I’m dead and passing through some netherworld. Ridiculous, I know. But it’s almost like a part of me is happy to accept this. That’s why I made a tiny cut on my hand a while ago. I needed to see blood, needed to feel pain, needed to know I was still alive.

Not for the first time this Parawerthan is threatening my sanity. And I doubt it’ll be the last.

I want to go and…

Hell! Armbranch just scared the crap out of me. I forgot how stealthily he can move through the woods. When he appeared through the trees a moment ago I almost dived for the gun. He says there’s a cave about a quarter mile from here that’s barely a hundred yard climb up the face of the valley. He thinks we should stay the night there.

Who am I to argue?

We’re in the jungle. The path led us straight in through a break in the forest and as we followed its winding course through the ranks of trees, bushes, and overhanging vegetation, it was easier to think of it as a proper path instead of that wispy trail that led us in here. Hard packed earth. It’s almost like trekking through the woods back home.

It was also easier to forget for a while about who or what might have made it.

This forest here is barren of wildlife. Either that or the wildlife fled at our approach. I doubt it, though. We haven’t seen as much as a bird or insect in here. Nor are there any signs of nests, burrows, a scrap of fur on a thorn, or a feather in a bush. Nothing. When I stop all I hear is my heartbeat.

Everything here is so green and colourful, yet so very dead and plastic at the same time. It is real, though. The leaves crumple in my hands, and when I snapped a branch earlier a white sap oozed from the break. Armbranch isn’t comfortable in here. He hasn’t said anything, but I know. I can see it in his face. Every time he returns from a scout, he never comments on what he saw. All he keeps repeating is that it’s good the valley isn’t big and that we should get out of here tomorrow.

And there are only two more valleys to go after that. Great.

O’Heir and Justin have been busy back home. O’Heir is still making discreet enquiries among his colleagues about any suspicious activity in the area and Justin’s been calling around local pubs, sitting over a beer, and eavesdropping conversations. They’ve heard nothing yet. And I’m glad. I don’t think I could handle too much drama right now.

We’ve camped about twenty yards off the path, just in case anything uses it by night. We’ve decided to skip the fire tonight, too. No point attracting any unwanted attention.

I wonder what our birds are doing now. I really, really miss them.

Most spectacular dawn of my life. If I were granted one wish in here (apart from finding the Basilod of course) it would be for a working camera. Not to photograph the wildlife, gateways, jungle, magic, or even Armbranch. No. I’d have wished to capture the sun rising this morning. Well, saying it rose, is an understatement. Flowed might be a better word. Like a great floodgate had opened, rivers of light poured out across the jungle from the east, flushing away the dark, and drawing every tree, bush, and shred of vegetation from the shadows.

It was so bright and beautiful it was almost painful to watch.

Made it to the valley entrance today. It was a hard, dangerous climb. Though there was a type of path leading upwards, it was difficult to follow. The ground underfoot was little more than dust and gravel in places and it was almost impossible to keep my footing. Armbranch, of course, fared better. Only for his steady hand I’d have slipped many times. We were also terribly exposed on the mountainside. Every time I looked back I imagined a thousand pairs of eyes watching from the jungle.

Our birds didn’t follow us. They stayed in the trees all day, chirping and singing as if sending us on our way with a song. Even now, if I listen hard enough, I think I hear them. Probably imagining it. Yes. Wishful thinking from a lonely mind. Those birds were our friends and it’s like we parted company without saying a proper goodbye.

The view from up here is fantastic. We can’t see the river. There’s nothing but a green carpet that stretches off into the horizon and far beyond. What looks like a great body of water off to our right is shimmering in the evening sun. Even through the binoculars it’s hard to decide if it’s a great lake or the sea. I figure it’s a lake. It looks too calm to be a sea. Armbranch figured the gateway envelop is due south from here. But it’s impossible to recognise any of the terrain in that direction. No big surprise. I guess the gateway’s far beyond the horizon by now.

Beautiful, but intimidating. That’s the only way to describe the Shavlod Jungle. It’s hard to believe we spent so many months in there and emerged relatively unscathed. If that carpet was ever lifted and shook, god only knows what might tumble out of it.

The valley we’re heading into is barely more that a few miles wide and perhaps ten or twelve miles long. It’s crammed with vegetation, held in check by the steep rock walls on either side. Caves are visible here an there in the cliffs. Most are no bigger than a few yards wide but there’s one about halfway along the left face that’s wide enough to drive a truck into it.

From up here it’s impossible to tell what kind of jungle it is. It doesn’t look as chaotic as the Shavlod. I can only make out a few different tree types. It looks tight, though. In places along the tree line the trunks are so tightly packed together it might be a problem penetrating them. The path we followed up here (and Armbranch is sure it was a path) continues on down the far side and disappears into that wall of trees. With luck it might offer us easy access to the forest. The one thing Armbranch’s unsure of, though, is who or what might have used it.

It certainly wasn’t meant for human feet.

Finally, after months of slogging through jungle, we’ve reached the tree line. We’ve stopped here for the night. Ahead of us the mountains tower up into the clouds. It’s a relief to see the V shaped valley entrance. It’s a few miles up the slope. I don’t know if I’m imagining it but it appears like there might be a rough trail through the loose rock and boulders leading up to it.

Looks like a tough climb.

Armbranch spent several hours today gathering green berries from a large, bushy tree. In fact he was so particular about what he wanted, he climbed along every branch looking for the size he wanted. What he wants them for is anyone’s guess. Food perhaps. Or maybe it’s something else, something that could be helpful to both of us.

When I questioned him about it he just flashed a broad smile, made a popping sound, and made an outward gesture with his hands that was supposed to look like an explosion.

That riled my curiosity. Are those leaves magical in nature? Could they be used in some spell? I’d love to think so. I’d love to believe they held all manner of wild possibilities because, after the Basilod encounter, we’re going to need every trace of help we can get if we’re to survive the next fight.

Magic. Yes. Sounds good to my ears. And, for now, that’s what I’m going to keep thinking. They’re magic. They’re useful. And they’re going to help us.

Then again, they might just as well be Armbranch’s food.

Our birds are roosting in a stumpy tree close by. They’re as quiet this evening as I’ve ever heard them. Sad, really. I guess they won’t be coming any farther.

We’re near the edge of the forest. Armbranch did some scouting this afternoon and saw the entrance to the first valley. He figures we should break from the tree line by lunchtime tomorrow and make it the valley by nightfall. It’s invigorating news. It’s also intimidating news. From the moment I first left the gateway I’ve always moved under the cover of the forest. Not that it made me feel safer. Most times it didn’t. There was always the feeling, though, that the undergrowth offered protection. Tomorrow will be the first time I fully discard that protection.

After spending hours last night thanking O’Heir and Justin for their help, we had a long email powwow about the future. My plans haven’t changed. It’s O’Heir and Justin that needs to shift focus. Not only have they the gateway to worry about, they also have to figure out how to catch or destroy whatever burst out of it. Better still, they have to figure out what it is first.

Armbranch doesn’t know. He says our best chance is to push on and hope to learn more about it in the Parawerthan. For now, all the base camp team (as I’ve started calling them) should concentrate on is tracking it.

It’s another sign of the Basilod’s uncertainty. Something tells me it’s still only learning, gauging the limits of its power. If it had co-ordinated its attack on the island with an attack on the house, I’m convinced I would have cracked and would probably be dead now.

I asked O’Heir about the machine gun. He told me a cousin of his had once been a member of the IRA. When he had a change of heart and emigrated to the USA, he’d handed the weapon over the O’Heir instead of returning it to the organisation. O’Heir had kept it since. He hadn’t wanted to hand it over to his superiors in case they’d ask too many questions.

It certainly came in handy. Even though he’ll probably never use it, it’s a good thing to have. Psychologically, if nothing else. I think they’ll need a more powerful weapon than that to deal with whatever’s on the loose back there.

Everything went fantastic. O’Heir had something slung over his shoulder when he entered the tunnel. A machine gun. Hell! I couldn’t believe it. And it certainly wasn’t police issue. As far as I know, only detectives and plain-clothes special branch officers carry machine guns in this country. And they use Uzis. This was bigger and older looking, more like something from a WWII documentary.

Anyway, I don’t care where he got it. I only wish I had one, too.

There was something so oddly comforting about seeing Maya cared for by an old man with a machine gun. I don’t know why. I only know the knot in my gut sank away when he eased her onto her back and folded her arms across her stomach. After so many months alone, it was fantastic to see her with another human being and hear how her pulse was steady and her breathing regular.

When I get back I’m going to treat O’Heir to free Bushmills every night for the rest of his life. I couldn’t fault him. He even brought her a pillow, a blanket, and a bouquet of roses that he laid beside her head. Armbranch was delighted, too. Yet he wasn’t fully content until O’Heir played the webcam along the tunnel floor and we spotted traces of white powder leading from farther along the outer tunnel. That powder certainly wasn’t there before. I’d never have missed it.

The whole operation took barely a few minutes and by the time the sentry wind arrived and whipped up a few tiny dust clouds from the floor, O’Heir was safely back in the inner tunnel.

By then, all I could think about was that white powder. Bone powder. That’s what Armbranch is convinced it is. Bone powder from the Basilod’s skeleton. The Basilod didn’t return here to torment Maya. It didn’t need to. A part of it, some deep energy, remained in the bones all the time just waiting to be called up.

Stopped for the night about an hour ago. There’s a mist gathering above the trees now. And there’s something about the way it’s catching the sunset that makes it appear like a sheet of hazy flame. I’d love to stay and watch it. Yes. Sit here and pretend it was just another evening and that I’d soon show Armbranch more pictures before bedding down for the night. I can’t. O’Heir’s entering the tunnel in exactly half an hour and I’ve hardly thought about anything else all day.

I’m not too nervous. I trust O’Heir. And I also trust Justin to watch his back. O’Heir plans to enter the tunnel with a rope tied around his waist. Justin will be on the other end of the rope. He figures he’ll be okay to haul O’Heir out if anything goes wrong.

Sounds good. Yet, if it comes to a tug of war between Justin and the ‘sentry’, I hope Justin’s reactions are good enough to release the rope quickly. Otherwise he might get dragged in there. We all recognise O’Heir’s done for if the sentry lays a single breath on him.

Once Armbranch learned about the plan he insisted I contact O’Heir and request he scans the tunnel floor around Maya with the webcam. I don’t know what he hopes to find, but O’Heir’s agreed. If he has the time, of course.

They’re in the inner tunnel already, preparing. Time to sign off now, time to switch to Maya’s web cam.

O’Heir didn’t hesitate agreeing to my request. He’ll enter the tunnel tonight. About sixish. Perhaps it might have been better if I asked him to do it immediately and get it over with. But that would have been unfair. He needs time to prepare, not just physically, but mentally. I need time to adjust to the idea, too. I guess we all do.

Tonight’s good enough.

Dreamed last night of that creature by the fire, dreamed it whined and whined and whined until the fire whined back in perfect harmony and the flames came alive with faces, images of the forest spirits that once inhabited the dead trees.

The little creature was asleep by the embers when I woke. It didn’t stay long. The moment I stirred it scampered away, rousing our birds as it slipped into the undergrowth. Armbranch was out scouting and I wondered why he didn’t wake the creature when he left. Did he forget it was there, or did he deliberately sneak away so as not to disturb it? Whatever the reason, it was a welcome reminder of how stealthy he is.

We made good progress today. Armbranch figures we’ll be out of the woods in a few days and working our way through the mountains. Once again, the environment changes the higher we trek. The vegetation is mostly scrub scattered amid the rocks, and the trees are low lying and thin leafed. Behind them the mountains rise up like a great, grey wall. There are also a remarkable amount of grey and yellow birds nesting in these trees. They’re feeding off a purple fruit that’s plentiful here.

Their screeching racket makes it hard to talk at times.

Justin’s back from Dublin. He didn’t elaborate on what he’d picked up there, and I’m not sure if I want to know. I was just happy he was back. He didn’t seem surprised when I mentioned O’Heir’s offer. I’m sure he knew about it already. O’Heir’s too smart to make an offer like that without telling Justin first. Justin made a token protest, but agreed it was probably best if O’Heir went. Less emotional involvement, he said.

Time to mail O’Heir. I’m going to ask him if he’ll enter the tunnel tomorrow night.

O’Heir made me an offer this morning. He’s offered to enter the tunnel and ‘make things right’ with Maya. I’m tempted to accept. My feelings aside, the longer she’s left sprawled in that position the more I’m terrified it might cause long term or permanent damage to her body. Though Justin’s been plaguing me with a similar offer, I’d prefer O’Heir to go. He’s got a steadier head and won’t take any chances. He wouldn’t hesitate to bail out the instant anything entered the tunnel.

In and out, that’s what he assured me.

I believe him. But I won’t accept his offer just yet. That idea’s going to take some time to settle in my head and just knowing such help is available is enough for now. For that relief alone, I’ll be eternally grateful to him.

I’ve also got to think about Justin’s reaction when he hears I’ve chosen an ‘outsider’ to enter the tunnel. He’s not expected back from Dublin until tomorrow and it’ll be a test of our relationship when I mention it to him. That Dublin trip has been worrying me. To be honest I’m also curious as to what he’ll turn up with: guns, ammunition, explosives. Under the circumstances I think I’d forgive him almost anything. It’s just a shame he won’t be able to get any of it to me.

O’Heir seems just as curious. He hasn’t mentioned much, but he has dropped a few hints about strengthening our hand. He got a call from one of his friends earlier. Seems like someone’s property was damaged last night. A farmer that lives a few miles away reported that vandals had smashed his front door in and scattered the timbers around inside the house.

O’Heir’s checking it out right now. Though I hate to admit it, I’m almost thankful the IMF is knocking at Ireland’s door. At least it’ll keep the people talking about something other than what the local police are up to.

At some point today the creatures gave up following us. Armbranch noticed it first and did a quick backtrack. Seems like they might have picked up the scent of some other, easier prey. Our birds are relaxed again. And a short while ago a small mammal crept up to our fire. I guess the whine of air escaping from the dry logs attracted it because every time another gush of air and blue flame erupted, the animal responded with a whine. Instead of spooking me, that sound, that gentle whine, relaxed and calmed my mind in a way I can’t describe.

Even Armbranch was fascinated.

I think I’ll accept O’Heir’s offer. It’s almost impossible for me to look at Maya lying like that. I’ll never get used to it.

The animals tracked us all day. They’re getting bolder. At one point they were darting about through the undergrowth barely twenty or thirty yards behind us. They don’t scare me. Not in daylight anyway. It might be different tonight. We’ll sleep in shifts again to keep the fire going.

In a way I’m almost glad they’re following us. They distract me, force me to focus on our task instead of home. It’s only now, when I stop and log on, that thoughts of Maya crowd my mind. She hasn’t moved. And it’s so very hard to get used to her lying like that. If only I could go there for five minutes, a minute, or even thirty seconds. If only I could straighten her arms and ease her into a more comfortable position I’d rest much easier tonight.

Can’t dwell too much about it. Otherwise, I’ll do something stupid. Curse that Basilod anyway. Occasionally, when thunder rumbles over the trees, a part of me imagines it’s the Basilod’s laughter. Trick laughter, an endless echo planted in the mountains to taunt our passing.

Not long ago I’d have thought that notion insane. Now it seems as possible a thing to happen as a ball of flesh to come alive, a smoke cloud trying to choke me, or any other of the impossible things I’ve experienced here.

Time to light a fire. Time to rest and eat. I’m starving. We’re having more white carrots tonight, along with some leaves and sour red berries.

How delightful.