Just before she lost her consciousness, the old woman told us to pick her old staff and take her into de woods. We thought it was almost suicidal, given the circunstances.
However, we followed her request and prepared an improvised stretcher to carry the hermit. But when we took a last glance out of the wndow before leaving, just to make sure it was safe outdoors, the impossible happened: The forest had come to us.
And then, trees spoke.
Last night the old woman warned us that something or someone was hanging around the house. Watching out so that we were unseen, we observed through a window two big creatures of monstruous appearance that were inspecting the place. One of them was carrying something on its hand.
After some minutes looking at them, we heard some voices that were somehow familiar to us and shivering we understood that the shape-shifters were back.
After walking around for a while they went towards the stables and before we could do something to stop her, the hermit run towards them, probably to protect the animals. The phooka and the puck quickly leapt on her and we, armed with iron fireplace pokers, went to her aid.
It all happened too fast. Soon the shape-shifters were running away, now in their small true appearance, leaving behind the bundle one of them was carrying: our notebook.
We picked it up still scared but also relieved and as we stepped into de house again, a noise attracted our attention. We turned back and saw the phooka, who was playing its flute very close to us, and in the twinkling of an eye it used the instrument as a blowpipe and shot a small spear...
...directly to our hostess' chest.
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Last night, after midnight, this little fellow knocked the door of the small house. He came riding a big black-faced sheep towing a big barrel of beer. When our hostess saw him a radiant smile of happines was drawn on her face and she let him in.
Before putting the barrel in the kitchen and driving the sheep to the barn we joined them. It seems this little leprechaun was an old friend of the hermit and every year he visits her bringing with him a lot of beer, which also shared with us this year.
For some reason we fail to gasp the barrel seemed to never empty, and after several pints we decided to retreat, having lost the hope of initiating a lucid conversation with the leprechaun. Yet he gave us a bag of gold nto each before we left. Then he and the old woman continued drinking, laughing and remembering te past non-stop until the morrow.
When we got up this morning the only trace that remained of the leprechaun were to bags filled with leaves and a terrible hangover.
Every night turns colder than the last one here on the moors and more and more unknown creatures are coming by. We know they are there and, even if we can't see most of them, they do can see us.
Last night we were peacefully camping next to an improvised fire when the shapeshifters finally turned up. We believe they were a phooka and a puck. With some mixed feelings of excitement and growing fright we managed to talk to them for a while. That was our first "conversation" with supernatural creatures: an unfriendly conversation full of threats.
Fortunately we were wearing our iron amulets so they could not do us any harm. However they took everything else: our provisions, backpacks... and the Notebook.
As we learned last week, the moor is a place where one can easely get lost due to the presence of many stray sods during the day and will-o'-the-wisps at night. Also, we've seen animals with strange behaviour and a suspicios horse and a goat that have been appearing and desappearing during the last days.
We think that we are being folowed by some kind of shape-shipters...
