From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.
April 11, 1930.
I have found people.
They are descendants of some who have disappeared from Cross. This information was gathered more through pantomime than through the spoken word.
I cannot understand their language, nor can they understand English. There are similar words, as well as a smattering of Latin and German. For the most part, we were unintelligible to one another.
They are currently without men, their older sons and husbands having vanished with the sudden changing of their surroundings. I can only assume that the men are trapped in some other place within the boundaries of Gods’ Hollow.
Their habits are curious, focused on the gathering of food, which consisted primarily of laying in wait for whatever animals happened along the game trail.
I did not risk firing my pistols, regardless as to how much I wished to help them.
Not only would the sound of a gunshot scare off game, it might alert deadlier creatures to my presence, thus putting the descendants at risk. As I prepared to take my leave of them and continue my search through the Hollow, the eldest woman went into their small home, returning with a small, leather-bound journal.
The journal was battered and worn. On the first page, there was a date and a name, both written in an all too familiar hand: June 1st, 1967, the Blood Lake Journal of Duncan Blood.
I left the keepsake with the woman, fearing knowledge of a future which may or not may be my own.
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