Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the time to travel to the Grove in this guise. Maybe I should have made a more formal and less anonymous greeting. But I had to know the extent of a friend’s injuries. Obviously, word had spread throughout Ebonhawke, of a Sylvari who had burned her hands in an attack. I shall leave the names of such out of this writing for the sake of anonymity. Should someone find these writings, I do not wish them to target friends on my account.
But being one who is in such a disguise can cause trouble and doubt and worry in those that in the light of day would call you friend. Fortunately, the one who was injured is one who knows well. She recognized me. It may have something to do with the timber of my voice, what others would call my accent (and it is a rather thick accent compared to others of Ascalonian heritage).
Still, my worries and fears were satisfied when I saw the care that was being taken for my friend. Though, her guardians were just a tad over protective. Even a Sylvari who is the age of 25 years must know when someone is being truthful and honest and only wishes for the best for someone. I admit, the mask and dark clothing did give a foreboding appearance, but such things are often only a cover. Hide a knife in a smile, indeed.
It is with hope that I shall see her in Ebonhawke once again, to hear her at the Wayrest with other friends and colleagues. Perhaps this time, I won’t be wearing the mask, and I will just make my presence known as it usually is seen. And if anyone is reading this, no, I am not giving anything away about that other life.
No peaking ’til Wintersday.