In the darkest hours, Adja brought me a thick blanket. She has never offered an explanation for her people's belief that every use of magic has a consequence. I think it may be the influence of the swamp people that once called her island their home. She stood with me for a time, sipping her strong tea, watching me with those odd marble-green eyes. The sun's light ebbs daily.
Darkness is ascendant, and our armies still fall, or are turned.
We have too few left to resist for much longer. This island has become our final redoubt. At last, I went to my quarters to sleep. I asked the captain of the guards to keep watch for the return of the gromnatross, but she still has not been seen. I keep trying to tell myself that it is but a child's fable, but I know too well how many fables bear the seed of truth.