Rotterdam Forest Spider (Morning) Auto-translated

"So, you want us to sell it, huh? Do you need firewood? You don't have any money," one of the lumberjacks said skeptically, looking him over. It seemed that the men weren't particularly bright and didn't quite understand what was being asked of them.

- Alright. I didn't mean to scare you, but... this tree is cursed. What do you think all these mages are doing here? Wandering around town in their hoods, sitting in taverns at the back tables. Sometimes you walk by and feel a chilling cold emanating from them. They've all been drawn here by the source of magic. Do you know Soft Dick? He lives over there, on Oven Street. A year ago, he cut down one of the last remaining chestnut trees here and lost his virility, and his wife was covered in leprosy. It's all the work of the creatures. They hired a warlock to cast evil spells and weaken the Wellspring. You can't just cut down this tree; such spells last for several years.

“Oh, is that so, really?” said the woodcutter. “Forget about it then,” agreed the second one.

Rotterdam nodded sympathetically. "Well, let's see what this has given me."

The woodcutters left (Rotterdam +100 experience), and the ravens (now it was clear that there were two of them) happily descended to the lower branch. Rotterdam had a view of the nest, hidden in the branches, almost at the very top. The smaller raven (probably the female), after thinking for a moment, returned to the nest, and the larger raven fulfilled the Sylvan's dream, perching on his shoulder.

- I hope you understand that I had to deceive honest workers because of you? - Rotterdam said, turning to his shoulder. The bird's claws unpleasantly pricked his skin through the worn fabric of his cloak. He took a mouse out of his pocket and hung it by its tail on a nearby branch. The mouse hung for a moment and then fell to the ground. With difficulty, he bent over and felt a sharp pain in his lower back, and he tried to secure it better, but it slipped again, although this time he managed to catch it. Then he simply impaled it on a branch with its mouth and wiped his hands on the tree bark. - This is... for the future. One less hungry mouth. Pulling his cloak tighter, Rotterdam limped towards the street. Despite the coolness and his poor condition, his mood improved slightly. He put his hand in his pocket and took out dirt, crumbs, and two meager copper coins. "This won't last even half a day. Maybe some hawthorn berries?" - Look how much money I have, - he said to the raven. - What should I buy with it?

The raven philosophically winked at Rotterdam, as if to say, "You're in good hands with me."

- Alright. Let's go then.
Rotterdam and the bird headed to the cheapest diner in Cladez.

The nearest one turned out to be "The Flight of the Boot." When Rotterdam opened the door inside, the first thing he saw was a table where sat Sylvans who were painfully familiar to him. And among them was Shivaniel.

Rotterdam immediately turned around and went back outside. His ailing heart was pounding wildly, spots danced before his eyes, and his lungs greedily gulped down the stale air. "They found me. After all these years, they're still looking for me. How did they track me down to the Well? What should I do? Get out of the city? But I have no transportation, no money, no supplies. Should I go to the authorities? They'll just laugh at a vagrant like me and kick me out, and they might even maim me. What should I do?" He shifted from one foot to the other, and an indistinct feeling began to stir within him. "Maybe they're not after me? But what else could they be doing here? Where else would they look for me if not in this rundown tavern? If they've been following me from Blackleaf, they know what to expect from me. But in that case, they could have caught up with me much sooner... Even if they're not after me, they'll still kill me at the first opportunity." Rotterdam lightly ruffled the few remaining strands of hair on his head, glanced at his reflection in a puddle, and was horrified. He wanted to scoop up some mud and smear it on his face, but it turned out there was no need. "They shouldn't recognize me. So many years have passed, and I was a handsome young man, full of strength. I barely recognize myself anymore." "Don't give me away!" he said to the raven. He went back into "The Flying Boot," walked with his head down to the counter, put down a copper coin, and croaked: "Three sixes. A bottle," – that was about all he could afford in these hard times. Then he sat down at a free table not far from a group of elves and began to listen to their conversation, furtively glancing at and assessing Shivaniel and her companions, hiding his face and slowly sipping the vile concoction, which, nevertheless, somewhat calmed his nerves.

Not a bad sense of hearing, which is a characteristic of the Sylvan faction, was slightly impaired in Rotterdam due to his lifestyle, although he still managed to catch snippets of phrases. --..., sat down, ... --Is that him? ..., we didn't recognize him?

Rotterdam's insides clenched, and his hands trembled, but he continued to sit, not showing any sign of it. "Naive and foolish. A real idiot."

The Sylvans continued their conversation, and there was no tension between them; they even joked sometimes. But they kept glancing at Rotterdam.

- What should I do? - Rotterdam muttered almost inaudibly, addressing the bird. - These scoundrels are planning to kill me.

If a raven could talk, it would probably say, "We need to get out of here," at least, it looked around restlessly.