A discrete offering to Sylaise

Jorah was climbing through a slim hole in the boards as Devante as him about the forest ahead. A hiking path was beyond the boards. Boards with faded paint hung from tassels, faint blessing washed away by years of rain and abandonment. Little chimes tinkled in the evening breeze, decorated with feathers and beads. One might wonder if the path was marked by a witch, but Jorah knew it was all that was left of the grand path to the old temple to Sylais, whom the denizens of Arlathan once worshipped.

[color=orange]"Old protective enchantments, left by the priests of Sylais, most likely. You know how the old mages liked to make guards of trees and rocks. There's one of the dragon shrines a walk up this way,"[/color] he struggled to pronounce, having to suck his stomach in to squeeze through the slim opening. [color=orange]"Hopefully, all the old believers and forest hermits have come down to town tonight,"[/color] he said shooting a glance to his cohort on the opposite side of the planks. He leaned on the plank now, speaking through the opening with a bright, daring humor in him. [color=orange]"Even you couldn't miss it, so why would they?"[/color] he ribbed Santanna with a smile.