Journal Entry 6
Zaskja, just Zaskja
Dear future me,
I made it!
I can hardly believe it.
It feels…incredible…badass…daunting…fated.
I’d thought for sure that someone had detected me back in Meadowpoint, but then the sledge jerked back into motion and didn’t stop again—not ONCE.
I’m more convinced than ever that my journey is predestined. That the Norns have woven this fate for me, for if I hadn’t been meant to leave, then I would’ve been caught, and I wasn’t.
And yes, I’m aware Myrknótt is still in full swing, but still…
Everything has gone according to plan: The sentinels at the pass waved us right through, my ride was parked so near a thicket that even if someone had wanted to unload the provisions (they never do until the end of the Hunt) they wouldn’t have been able to, and then when I got out, there wasn’t a single wolf in sight.
Actually, that’s not true. There was one, but he was so absorbed by something in the branches of a nearby tree that I drifted past him like mist.
My face currently hurts more than my feet from all my grinning. I suspect that’ll soon change, given the miles ahead.
With all my hopes and dreams,
Zas