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Awkid thrusted his arm into the Earth. It melded with the soil and formed a mound of dirt beneath Balamor into a large hand. Roots and insects deep underground were clinging onto the large limb as it's five fingers closed to shape a cup. Balamor lifted into the tree and quickly found his way to the top. Gold residue glittered on his robes and the locks of his hair. He broke through the dense foliage with a cloud of gold dust.

"What do you see?" Awkid asked,

"Strange..." Balamor replied.

He slowly looked around him, in all directions he saw nothing but trees. The Forest of Nim was endless, no distant mountains, no Peak of Rayguth, no Mog Brush.

"It's just... Trees. Forever." Balamor shouted as he looked down through the foliage. He paused when he saw some leaves were stuck to his robes. He quickly yanked a handful of leaves from the tree. He wanted to save them, maybe in the future they could be of use. For now they would be concealed in his pack. After a final look he climbed down the tree.

"Illusions... We are being toyed with, Balamor."

"I have an idea, but we need to test something." Balamor paused but Awkid was silent.

"Okay, we need firewood right? Well while you gather wood I want you to walk straight. Don't turn around, just keep walking."

"You better hope you're right, or else I'll be fine to keep walking." Awkid replied.

"Just trust me Mr. Anvorbeard." Balamor said as he turned around.

At that Awkid walked away leaving Balamor up in the rune marked tree. Minutes had gone by as Awkid gathered the driest branches and leaves he could find. He was angered with this journey, but he knew it was something he agreed to take part in and what could happen on the way to the Mog Brush. The trees shook behind him and then quickly to his left. Awkid didn't fret, his eyes were peeled — something was around and it was very fast. Whatever it was Awkid knew he needed to track it. He walked in a creeping stance, his arms full of branches and leaves.

Above him the canopy shook, leaves feathered their way down onto him. Again yards in front of him the trees rustled, Awkid ran forward chasing the sounds of branches snapping. He tried not go off course but the sounds were luring him. Tree after tree he trailed behind, after a moment he began to see the tally marks Balamor made; each in chronological order — He made it to the fifth. From around its trunk the mysterious glow of the rune tree greeted him along with the young Wisebeard.

The End

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