16th of the First Spring, 2,001 (ADZ)
To you, my firends,
Elexia is the proverbial small village, where social connections are tight. There is even a farm run by a rickety old mume and his family who somehow hold their own against the Dread Wolves successfully enough that the sheriff has never been on their farm. They are not wholly approachable, which is a pity because their record at defending against the beasts is unbroken.
The rest of the village knows well the wolves, and when I asked they said the best bet with these studying these creatures was through a spyglass from outside the woods, preferably on a hill 10 leagues west of the forest. Chumkin got a good luagh out of that, especially when I inquired as to the location of this hill. It must have been some shared joke about world tourists.
Elexia is kindly and quaint, just large enough to require a local sheriff. What at the mill, I asked and discovered the law here is simple (if you'll pardon the local dialect):
"1. Don't take what ain't your's.
2. Don't hurt none more than they ask for.
3. Don't be a dick."
I asked the sheriff, a large woborc, what she thought of the Annalow law of "no edges larger than one's hand," and she pointed as rule number 2 and went back to work. I say back to work, but it was at the mill they she was helping at. The Even the Sheriff helps with the wood production in this town, as did everyone except the inn-keep as far as we could tell.
There is also a local Dryad here. How rare. When I knocked on her tree, I found her shy, shrinking from my investigation. The locals here generally disregard her presence as protest from tree-kin, but welcome her as a plant doctor. Ched Lumberer, the mayor and owner of the mill, said they look after the trees here because "They're our live'n."
I'll keep an eye out for wolves.
Yours,
Professor Steven Mumewin
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