"Stepping onto the 'plank' itself. Walking along the trunk, away from the shore. Mud glistening on both sides of me. I could step off anywhere and be swallowed. It is my last walk and I open all my senses; see the bright sun gleaming on the great pit, the forest thick and rich around it; smell mud, earth, leafmould, sap; hear the endless chatter and quarrels of birds; feel the soft rotting trunk under my feet, the rub of fur on fur, the slide of my kilt against my thighs; sense the Forest's magical reality, the huge slow mind and presence around and under me.

"I have to wonder how accidental this convenient trunk is. For all my closeness to it, I've still don't know how the Forest thinks; I can't say whether it's in its nature to plan and engineer a walkway for an expected guest. I would not be surprised, though, if the trunk is leading me to the same spot where I first struck my "bargain". The mud beyond the end looks no different from any other place in the pit, but my sorcerer's senses are reading my name in the streaks and ripples of the mud there... or else writing it in. Sorcerers can be fanciful, too."

(Scribe's note: Sorry about double-posting this one. Not sure how that happened.)

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Part 14
Part 16