Nothing is Sacred. Three arrows inside Casper's rib — and Marcus' spine is surely splintered. . . we carried him to safety, fire raining down on us.
We've sundered to Commander Cyrus at nightfall when the Fell crept in. Alas, we are blessed beyond all. While veiled in holy light, the Fell won't come near. . . Or perhaps our refuge is the result of Emily Fray's blessing.
I pray their southern caravan route is less perilous than ours. I must set down the pen. Casper cries. He needs soothing.