From the journal of Maxfield Jaden Fox 9th of Blossom, 801 On the Isle of the Gods (and Goddesses, it would seem)

I hardly know where to begin, as so much has happened. Somehow, by following the otter's advice, all of our party still live! I had my doubts when they rose up like vipers from the grass, ready to strike anyone who so much as breathed wrong. Stephen spoke so eloquently that they were forced to show us hospitality, and after asking twice to see the Guardian, we all went and sat in the dust as we had been told to. Shambling down the road came a mountain of a woman, who, when Stephen addressed her in the odd tongue the otter had taught him, looked surprised and spoke back to him in the same language...All very strange and magickal it seemed to me.

I wish I had half of Stephen's charm and courage. He is a fine leader for our party, I think.

This woman, very obviously both a high level druid and the awaited Guardian, went into the great dining hall and plucked up all the food she could carry (which was a great deal indeed) and took us all back to her cabin. She fed us and spoke long with us, and I slept like I haven't since before dear old Alfred was killed. This morning, she fed us pancakes and smoked fish and offered us the use of the bath house (what a luxury). There was a girl with her, young, it seems, shy, but wise. She awakened something in me that I thought had died with Lark. If only she would notice me. She says she is coming with us to Bliss. Her presence makes the destination redundant, I think. Her name is Lia. It has been a long while since I tried to write any poetry, and it always pales in comparison with Stephen's , but I think I will try anyway.

I have been trying to spar with the Fianna. I fear that my fighter training has lapsed quite badly in the past few months, my mind taken up with my magickal studies and of course the series of catastrophes that have beset us since our graduation from the guild. My muscles are tired and I'm bruised head to foot, but I think I am learning more from the Fianna than I have anywhere in my life. I will stop writing now as it seems to be time to take the aforementioned bath, and who knows when we will have the chance at another? More Later.

Lia: a poem by Maxfield Jaden Fox

From a veil of golden hair, she glanced at me.
with wisdom born of pain, she voyaged far alone.
Her eyes soft and shy, went to my very soul
would that she might smile at me...

There is a scribbled out place here in the journal, and it appears that he has tossed it aside in disgust...