The road becomes less defined, the land wilder as civilization recedes. There are few travellers and only the occasional band of giants. All are avoided with ease.
A few days later the shimmering waters of Lake Corax beckon. The traveller quiety nods to himself, allowing himself a bit of relief. There is a perception of peacefulness, almost an aura here. To those attuned, it is obvious that there are steward(s) of nature that watch over this place and no doubt reside close by.
A simple camp is made in a copse of trees on a quiet alcove of the lake.
The following morning a hawk is noted circling overhead. The traveller beckons to the bird which gracefully decends and lands on the bough of a nearby tree. If any witness were about, they would be certain that the hawk and the traveller were having a deep and engrossing conversation.
About an hour later the hawk rises from the tree and quickly ascends to the height it is most comfortable with.
Much has now been learned, the path more clear.
But first, a day to rest and meditate.
Camp is broken, the road rejoined for a bit. Not far after Lake Corax the traveller seems to veer into a patch of brambles. Only the most discerning of eyes would note that it was in fact a trail, one used by various creatures 'of the wild'. To most it would seem a far more formidable route. In fact, for one with a keen perception of nature, this route offered nothing but clear advantages: Safety from brigands and other ne'er do wells; creatures of all sort that could be consulted if in need; and in fact much more direct than the well worn paths.
Emerging into a clearing, a cete of badgers were encountered. They were able to point out the best approach to what once was known as Vale, one that did not disturb the nearby satyrs or any of the other denizens of this part of the Forest.
Another day on the trail, the destination reached.
An almost unfathomable amount of harm had been done here.
The land seemed to practically groan in pain.
It was time to aid in the healing.