Helena is healing, I make sure of that. But you want to know if you can trust her? I see her spirit. It was born good and needs work to keep it that way. Much like yours.
The forest children are ill. Once they drank from fruit, ate nuts and berries. Now they drink blood, eat brain and heart. This land is in a nightmare from which it cannot wake.
If Silk's story of the mother of Eight-Legs is true, then you should go get the spear from her.
The creatures near the Chamber of Sins have suffered from a twisting of their spirits. They are sick and angry. If this happens to the Eight-Legs, we will all suffer from their fever.
Lorrata is dead. It is not news to me. The forest screams its grief.
You need not carry the blame; this was Lorrata's will. I do not question why she allowed you to end her days. I keep her in my dreams, where she might still help us.
Men did very bad things in the Chamber of Sins. The forest there hurts... it is changed. The animals, our kin spirits, are made ugly and angry. Why is one life lived not enough for some men?
The spirit is strong in Fellshrine. You touch the stones, you will feel it. They spoke to me, those stones. Told me to take their altar, and to find the hand of a Good Man. He lived in that 'church' as you call it. The altar is his and it will wake when he touches it once more.
You could find the Good Man, bring me his hand? When the spirit of the altar awakes, I will share it with you. I promise.
I dreamed this. A vast creature, a thing of shadow. I saw it escape from a black prison and climb a man-crafted mountain, drifting up its four, sheer sides like the mist that reaches for the clouds. It gathered at the peak of that mountain and ate the heart from the sun.
You smell of that black mist and... something else. Guilt. That is it, yes. Guilt is a strong illness. It gnaws at the spirit until there is nothing left, until you are one of the walking corpses.
You want a cure? Find the man-crafted mountain, send the shadow home, and tell the monster to take your guilt with it.
I dreamed this. A vast creature, a thing of shadow. I saw it escape from a black prison and climb a man-crafted mountain, drifting up its four, sheer sides like the mist that reaches for the clouds. It gathered at the peak of that mountain and ate the heart from the sun.
You smell of that black mist and... something else. Guilt. That is it, yes. Guilt is a strong illness. It gnaws at the spirit until there is nothing left, until you are one of the walking corpses.
I am not surprised. I saw you, in my slumber, drive the darkness away.
I am sorry that I did not tell you before. What I see is only what might happen, and I did not want to fill you with more confidence than would have been good for you.