Reaching the sanctuary

When the Destitute first came upon the blessed isle, it was at the mouth of the Dark River. Tired, decimated and close to despair they had been traveling along the shores of the river for the last few months. Even though the river itself was treacherous and demons sometimes ventured out of its pitch black depths to feed on the unweary travelers, it also provided a small measure of food, a bitter tasting fish that could be lured by firelight. The river also provided water and even protection. Some of the fearsome predators that roamed the forests seemed to be afraid of the water and stayed mostly clear of the river. For the last remaining survivors it was like walking on a knife-edge. During the last weeks of their trek the river had become wider and shallower, with marshy islands appearing in its wake. Birds nested in these green islands but no-one dare to venture there. Even though the river was shallower, there were still strong currents that could sweep a fullgrown man away. So they kept to their diet of fish and whatever they could find in the forest underbrush. Amid the Lost Ones there were rumours and half-uttered predictions. The change in the river and the sight of birds provided a strong sense of hope. A hope they almost didn’t dare utter. The Destitute were more suspicious of their prophesying than ever and came down hard on anyone claiming the omens were a sign that the promised land was near. Still, secretly all of them clung to any spark of hope.