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THE ROAD THAT winds around Shadowmere Lake seemed less eventful to me - given that the hills had become our certain death - but I have to reconsider

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THE ROAD THAT winds around Shadowmere Lake seemed less eventful to me - given that the hills had become our certain death - but I have to reconsider. It's morning, in a thickly wooded area where Syl can't walk without her wings getting caught in the branches, so she's flying above us. The white belly and membranous wings barely emerge.

Raor advises us to be on alert, and we stop. He's pricking his ears in a very focused way. We do the same and form a circle, looking in all directions.

A hostile presence appears, making wild and ungraceful noises. I'd say it's a monkey, like the animal I saw depicted in a book from the castle of Ocleodathe when the guild and I were searching for the sword. ʹGorillaʹ is a term widely used to insult Raor, in fact.

"Unsheathe your swords. It's approaching."

We follow the order of the amber-eyed expert, and a vile creature awkwardly emerges. It resembles a monkey but isn't one; its limbs are large and imposing, its long fur has earthy tones, and branch-like horns intertwine on its head. On its chest, there are concentric and luminescent circles that constantly change intensity.

"It's a Moncaì. It controls nature and kidnaps females of other species. Girls, be careful."

"We can handle ourselves just fine," we reply to Raor, and the funny part is that we do it all three in sync.

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