The terror of these past few weeks is almost more than I can bear; yet, I feel that by writing down that which I've seen I will somehow be comforted. So I do it, and it is the only comfort I have these bleak days.

It began with the finding of that cursed scythe in Roland's Doom. Before the Scythe, the terrors of this place seemed as tame as Northshire Valley.But ever since I found the haft of the Scythe jutting from that pile of rubble in the mine and, curse me, pulled it free, Roland's Doom became a place of vile death!

After the Scythe was freed, They came at us from everywhere, clawing from hidden holes at our feet and dropping upon us from silent perches above. Half our men fell in those first panicked minutes. The rest, including myself, tried to flee. As I ran I saw so many of my brothers taken by tooth and claw, heard so many screams cut short or gurgle to silence.

I can only guess why I survived that night. I have always been cautious, always quick to flinch from jabs and leap free of pitfalls. My nickname comes from this trait. So perhaps it was just that knack for caution that saved me...Or maybe it was the Scythe I pulled from the rubble. It cannot be the Scythe itself, for I lost it during my frantic flight. But if it was I who brought the Worgen to Duskwood, then perhaps the Worgen afforded me a rare courtesy. Curse them.

After surviving the flight from Roland's Doom, I hid within a barn owned by a man named Sven. I spent a few days in the barn, and such horror lingered with me that I never once made myself known to Sven or his family. But from what I saw from my hiding place, I knew these farmers were quite decent folk. Had I stepped from my concealment I think they would have taken me in, but trust is hard for me. Harder still after that shock in the mine.So I remained hidden.