Editing Stranded in fantasy (section)

===Journal Entry 46===

So we're kind of lost in the woods. The tree cover is too thick to take sun measurements for navigation, so we're kind of guessing. We at least know the right direction, between my and the captain's compasses. The woods are pretty quiet which probably means predators, but I don't feel anything out there. Marcus occasionally breaks out the guitar to play something inspiring. He's getting better at it and is managing to combine some Terran music with what I'm calling the bardic effects. It doesn't quite work right, so mostly we're hearing local traditional stuff. We've all been taking turns pulling the supply/injury cart, and pushing when it inevitably gets stuck. A few of the crew are ahead, picking paths through the trees and looking for the best ground to traverse until we find some kind of road. The Captain is certain there's an old trade road around here somewhere. We're zigzagging back and forth looking for it as we continue on to Winterfield. I tried climbing one of the trees for a better look, but didn't see anything other than more trees. So much green. According to the map, we should be in the woods for at least two days before we exit out, cut across some foothills and enter the northern plains. The crew is pretty superstitious. They keep telling tall tales of dark elves kidnapping people to their caves living in the woods, or cannibal witches or Druids powered on hatred and my favorite, the Woods Lich. He raises the dead as dryad tree warriors. I'd think it was all fun and games, but some of them are terrified by the prospect. It's like kids telling horror stories around a campfire to scare each other except it's grown men and women. Tonight we're going to tell our version. We're going to convert Hellraiser over to something they can understand.