Fellow adventurers, Bjorn here. Today the forest near Britain bested my axe and my sense of direction. I must have tried to chop the same cursed log a half-dozen times, and the path to the North Forest seemed to shift and hide from me whenever I approached. Managed to poke around some clearings between failures, though. Found a nice patch of mushrooms. So, not a total loss. My axe is dull, my pride is dented, but my thirst for mead is sharp as ever. To the tavern!
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