Folklore

From darkling woods with dwimmer wails

and icy ire, iron-keen

heavy pressed the heedless wind. 

In the woods was woodman striding,

Bright his eyes and voice a-singing,

On the road beside the river.

In the dark of night, Ryheric had gone with Tarsorel to hunt a beast. A creature the local farmers called rabid. Or, they spoke of it like a demon. On hushed tones, making superstitious gestures.

There had even been a rumour or two it was an Enemy of the free folk. A man, a foreigner with a curved blade who guised himself as a bard, responsible. Rumours of bloodlust not natural for the peace-loving Breefolk. Someone had planted the idea. Tarsorel knew it. Ry knew it. It stayed unmentioned between them.

((This text, authored by an unknown scribe in Dale during the early Fourth Age, concerns a strange Dalish custom.  For those unfamiliar with the tale of Old Farmer Jack and the Boggart, it is suggested that they first seek out the story in some form.  The version set down here may serve as an adequate example, though any passing Dale-lander will almost certainly be willing to explain and perhaps even demonstrate the custom, if asked.))