Lodged between the high peaks of the Dumum Mountains to the east and west, with the Cracking Void to the south and the Trembling Void to the north, is a plateau containing a series of low-lying valleys known as the Vale of Rydus. Most maps do not record the existence of this region, for few who have any understanding of cartography have ever penetrated the barrier of the mountains to realize that this patch of forest exists separate from the surrounding peaks and instead simply record an unbroken expanse of slope and summit. Outwardly the vale appears little different from the rolling conifer forests found on the lower slopes of the peaks throughout the range. Only a close and careful examination reveals the unique properties of this place, something that has rarely been done. No humans live permanently in this land, and even the boldest of Bahab hunters visit rarely. The result is a hidden realm between ice and sky, with deep and soggy soils fed by rich meltwaters and a verdant character despite its chilly nature. Its remarkable properties are, so far as I am aware, completely unique in the world.

Many will, I suspect, doubt this portion of the chronicle. The events that occurred between the escape of Lady Indili and myself from the Cracking Void and our return to human occupied lands in the Mumsassim Khanate in the spring of the twelfth year of Enduring Peace are without additional witnesses. Such doubts and questions are in some sense welcome, for I would be loathe to reveal the secrets of this place if I believed they would be widely accepted and draw much attention to the region. It would be simple to state that we simply reached the dwellings of a remote Bahab village and spent the winter among them, but that is not what occurred. At times, I do wonder at what happened, for it seems strange and dreamlike, but all occurred in accordance with the Enlightened Revelation, and there is evidence that cannot be denied.

The Vale of Rydus resembles the surrounding mountain forests in many ways, but because glacial ice lies to the north and south, water can only escape through slow paths that run deep beneath the bones of the mountains. As a result, it is filled with lakes and marshes, some of them of immense depth, and the land is generally perpetually soggy. Spruce predominates here, forming a thick, dark canopy that encloses the landscape. These are joined by swamp-loving cypress and a stubby understory comprised of variants of cedar and yew that rarely grow much taller than the height of a yurt. In rare well-drained areas, such as upon hilltops and ridges, there are also firs, pines, and larches. Though these types of trees are ordinary enough for the mountains, the specific forms of these trees, as well as those of forest herbs, mosses, and other plants are different from those found elsewhere. Such differences are subtle, only visible through careful inspection of bark and needle by one who knows plants well, with the exception of the cones. Rather than the dark brown cones familiar to most who have seen pines, the trees in the Vale of Rydus possess cones of vibrant color. These are predominantly numerous shades of green and gold, but in the case of the dominant spruces, the fist-sized cones are a brilliant reddish-pink sheen. At certain times of year, when the cones sprout from all trees at once, the whole forest appears to shade pink.

Bright red flowers are common among the wetland plants and the alpine forbs that occupy the rare meadows and blowdowns, and even the ferns found in the shade have reddish-tinged stems. Those few trees found here with broad leaves also display bright colors, remaining on the branch in red, yellow, and orange shades throughout the winter, only falling in late in spring to be replaced by green and gold. Such trees are mostly beeches and oaks, found only in the shelter of south-facing slopes. Perhaps most surprising, this color profusion extends to animals as well. Brightly shaded birds and butterflies fill the skies, and the woodland mammals all sport reddish or orange fur whether they are fox, marten, or a small breed of wildcat. Even the larger animals, which are few in number, have glossy fur with orange stripes or red-flared facial markings. These forms are, as far as I could determine, unique to the vale, matching not even drawings from elsewhere. These include a curious deer with long and thin antlers, a sure-footed antelope with stubby but widely set horns, an orange-striped variety of wolf, and a very rare but gloriously majestic small-bodied tiger. I observed each of these beasts in person, often coming quite close, for they seemed completely unfamiliar with humans and ignored our presence.

The forests of the Vale of Rydus do not grow to great height. Few trees reached above thirty meters save in rare places where growth was sheltered by the dip of a ravine or canyon. The canopy remains almost completely unbroken at a constant height and the density of trunks is extraordinary, often requiring the body to be wedged carefully between them to move about. This seems to be a response to the heavy moisture of this region, covered in snow in winter and soaked by meltwater in summer. Fire is practically unknown here, and I do not recall seeing the black scar marks of flame on any tree anywhere in the vale. The only openings found in the thick growth are sourced to blowdowns, for the boggy soil does not hold deep roots and the winds off the glaciers can be formidable. To move about in this area demands considerable pushing and prodding, and great effort in flexible motion. During warm periods it also forces a traveler to continuously crawl through spiderwebs, which are woven into seemingly every gap between the tree trunks and major branches. There are no proper roads or trails to be found, and most often the easiest path is by wading through a mountain stream or, in winter, walking across the frozen surface.

Though the character of this region is decidedly mystical, and Lady Indili proclaimed the concentration of divine essence unusually high, its mystic residents are few in variety. These include a variant form of marten with green fur and an extremely elongate, serpentine body and expansive blade-like claws called a ramachi. There is also a bird known as the Loxcur, which is a bright red crossbill. Their smaller cousins are found throughout conifer forests feeding on the pine nuts, but this form is expanded to the size of an eagle with a beak powerful enough to crack through bone and branch alike. Neither creature is especially common, as they feed upon rare burrowing insects or the largest of cones, and they are broadly harmless, but their appearance is distinctive. I have not found any apothecary treatise that speaks of their existence, suggesting they are not found outside the vale. Instead, the mystic provenance of this strange and wondrous place, which may be the result of ancient wizard-kings though not a shred of evidence of their presence could be found, is monopolized by the dryads. It is these beings, the tree people, who truly rule the vale. They would deny this, for the concept of governance is foreign to them and they do little to shape or shift this wilderness that has become their refuge, but any who challenged them would face their wrath, and swiftly.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Dryads found the Lady Indili and I on the third day after we stumbled off the glacier and into the vale. We were taking shelter beneath a heavily laden oak by the side of a small stream where we smashed and gorged on acorns in an effort to assuage our hunger, for we had not eaten since before leaving the glacier. They revealed themselves by telling us to stop, for the nuts were poisonous if not first strained through ash. This represented an entirely unexpected kindness from a truly unbelievable source, possibly the most openly generous action I ever experienced. I will speak of dryads in more detail in due course, but they represent the true resident people of the Vale of Rydus. They are not numerous, and it would doubtless be quite easy to walk across the space from glacier to glacier and never see one, especially if they did not wish it. However, they are aware of all that transpires within the forest they have claimed as their home and will take actions regarding intruders in accordance with their inscrutable purposes.

On this occasion, they provided salvation. No humans live in the vale, and hunters might visit no more than one year in ten. This is a true wilderness, one touched only by the people of trees, and that very loosely for they neither farm nor hunt. Strange and primordial as it is, it holds many traps for the unwary. Acorns are not the only seemingly familiar nut that, in this space, have acquired dangerous toxins, and elsewhere deadly forms are hearty nutrients here. A local variety of yew, which is commonly poisonous in all other regions, has needles that may be steeped to form a soothing and restorative tea. Survival in this place without carrying all necessary supplies in, a logistically impossible undertaking, depends on the assistance of the dryads, especially in the harsh and snow-soaked winter. Beneath the trees the white blanket accumulates until well greater than the height of a horse, and the world becomes still. For many long months everything appears frozen, a motionless tableau broken up by only by the unseen footfalls of predators who leave tracks atop the snowpack. Though game exists, the curious creatures of this place do not conform to expectations. Those first few days we tried snares but caught nothing. As the solstice comes the cold becomes deep indeed, and we floundered in the banks while seeking to move about. I have no illusions regarding the winter spent there and the absolute dependency it imposed upon us regarding the charity of the dryads. Neither Lady Indili or I are proper creatures of the wilderness despite our considerable travels, but I suspect that even the most skilled of Bahab hunters, raised and trained in the survival methods of the wild, would struggle in this place foreign to human knowledge.

As to the origins of the vale and its strange residents I cannot say, and the dryads claimed not to know. They, like most mystic beings, trace their origins to the actions of wizard savants long ago. Such an intercession is bizarre indeed, but it seems considerably more benign than the ministrations of the Obsidian Order. They claim to have found the vale even as it exists now and came to take it as a refuge for it was well-suited to their needs, but it was not formed by their arts.

The Lady Indili suggested that this place was a relic of the past, a remnant of a previous iteration of the mountain forest from some prior age, erased from all other lands by the slow churning of earth and stone. Somehow extreme isolation, or perhaps the protection of the glaciers, preserved a glimpse of a world that once was. It is a plausible guess, one supported by the proximity of the dragon’s lair, but there is not enough to convince. Such a sweeping conclusion cannot be made without proper study. That will take far more than two pairs of eyes stretched across a few days of autumn and the long months of a single winter. It will be the great work of some future scholar to investigate this bizarre corner of the mountains.

The accumulation of snow during the winter months in the vale is a truly astounding thing. Shdustu is mostly dry, and this generally includes even the Dumum Mountains. Usually the snowfall is modest, it simply forms heavy drifts from a failure to melt. Only along streambeds or against slopes where the wind blows pack together does it reach great heights. The vale defies this trend. Moisture feeds this space from all sides, clouds blown across the glaciers dump snow as they crash against the peaks. These dump a thick and heavy mix all atop the forest. Since the land remains cold and melt is minimal, the depth reaches shocking levels. At one point, digging down to the soil at the base of a mighty spruce, the largest tree I found in the entire vale, I discovered the snow had reached twice my full height there. I have never heard of such a thing anywhere else in Shdustu or all the imperial provinces. It seems that such things are not uncommon in the distant northern forests, of which the vale perhaps represents some long-lost ancestral form.

Such heavy snow has many uses. Strangely, compared to sheets of ice, a hole dug into the snow soon forms a solid packed crust and holds well the heat of the body. Such burrows are made by countless small animals, and if one watched carefully during the winter foxes and cats can be seen diving into the snowbanks in search of mice and rabbits. This principle operates even on much larger scale and throughout the winter Lady Indili and I spent most nights sleeping in a shelter dug out beneath the snow. If prepared properly this is both quite soft and very warm, though it is extremely dark. Becoming accustomed to such confines takes some effort, but the impact is superior to any form of tent I know. Regardless, we had little other option. Dryads are not builders. To avoid the cold, they utilize snow shelters exclusively, often barely moving for long periods. This practice further muffles winter activity in the vale, contributing to the dream like environment.

Even the stones have secrets in this place. The edge of the glaciers exposes vast rock faces, revealing a pale, grayish stone very different from the dark black rock of the mountain cores. This substance seems to be a form of slate, for it split easily into flat panes when struck. A valuable resource, potentially, useful to make roofs, but far too remote for any harvesting. The Lady Indili discovered that some fraction of these slabs, when split, were embedded with white-lined impressions. They seemed to be plants, imaged in stone, but they possessed features belonging to no plant I have ever seen. We knew not where they might have lived or what they signified. The dryads, however, found them beautiful purely for the shapes they made, and they accepted these as gifts in thanks for the support they offered. They did not keep them, having no proper homes, but arranged them among the trees in groves sacred to their kind. Such displays are the only sign that people have ever dwelled in this vast and frosted forest.