Observations from Day 41

One of the adult males wandered into my camp early this morning.  To be fair, I did set up near the shore beneath one of the larger waterfalls and he could scarcely be faulted for moving into prime hunting territory.  To my relief, he was a smaller specimen and the breeding urge had not yet set in.  I should still relocate; there's no reason to test the grace of the Scribe or blind good fortune.

Mtorto Lowlands

By the light of a dimmed amber lamp, the general rubbed what had, years ago, been his knee.  Cold brought a dull ache to the bones and the damp, smooth bark of his prosthesis chafed the skin there.  Of course, the arborcraft was flourishing since its root mass never lacked for rich mud in the camp, but this only further irritated the man: a gift from a skilled arbortect was a luxury and mark of distinction but he had to prune the damn thing every other day here.  He was too weary for that to be a pleasure anymore.