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At the moment our fates bound us most vulnerable, tragedy fell upon our villages. Satyrs defiled our temples, their profane touch staining sacred boughs, and they slaughtered the innocent without mercy. Kurothel was consumed by wrath. The druids are taking the fight to the satyr, and he has followed. Our bond endures. I feel my husband, west, within these woods. Please, return to me with news of his fate.