Misfortune

April 19. I write this far from the excavation, yet I am alive and must recount what happened. Rolfe and I were the only ones I know who managed to escape. It was near dusk, Rolfe had sought me out – one of the guides had gone missing – not deserted, of that Rolfe was certain – it was something else. His instincts proved true, for as dusk bled out, we heard a distant cry in the woods, then silence – then spotted shapes, hunched, moved amongst the trees. Rolfe became afraid, but to the man's credit, it did not stay his actions, and he pushed me to move. “Where there's one, there's at least two others you can't see,” he hissed to me, and fighting my hesitation, I left the equipment behind. Cursed isle – these infernal things seek to drive us from knowledge at every turn! -Grenville