Our journeys through the Wilderlands were hard on all of us, seeming at times more a fever dream than a real experience. Danger was on all sides, strange drum-sounds in the night, cries of unidentifiable beasts, the peculiar wail of winds that precedes the dreaded Aberrant Weather…
Like a delicious morsel of fruit hanging from a blasted, burnt tree covered with poisoned thorns, was Ri-Na-Lek, who had heard of our visit by what means we knew not, but who came alone to our camp in the dead of night, awakened me at knife-point, and led me to a secret valley where by moonlight she insisted on posing for me. Upon seeing the image I had drawn she proposed to thank me in a manner unique to the women of her tribe, but before she had more than begun to acquaint me with this fascinating custom, Fahfion appeared at the rim of the gully where we were hidden – having searched me out by some of those accursedly effective Cymrillian magics of his.
Understandably his initial view of the proceedings convinced him I was under vicious attack and in danger of my life, so to my eternal regret he let loose with an arcane bolt; she dodged it with an athletic deftness which still haunts my dreams and disappeared into the wilds.
Once we were on speaking terms again I showed him the image, and he was able to color it quite accurately despite having viewed her for only those few seconds in the moonlight; apparently she made quite an impression on him as well.