By the DM
“Honestly, considering how hard you fought, I’m surprised you don’t have anything to add, but all the better. Come on.”
Saturly sniffs the air and sets off in a direction best described as random. He and his cronies seem little concerned with the group. Occasionally, he stops, plays a few notes, listens for an answer you never hear and adjusts his heading. It is difficult to tell the passage of time as the group as kept to the tallest grass and the sun hasn’t moved an inch in the sky. Eventually, as you start to get tired, the satyr offers you some of the same sweet sparkly liquid which woke the Fey from her stupor. He recommends that you take off your boots and walk directly on the ground. Those that do start feeling a certain energy come up through their legs helping them walk for longer periods.
Eventually, Saturly, ahead of the group, drops to the ground and lets out a lilting epithet. He comes back and discusses something with the firbolgs in sylvan.
“Well, it looks like the summer queens know we’re here. The troops here, he says pointing to the giants, will distract her vassals while the rest of us slip by. On my mark, you follow me and, whatever you do, focus on the music.”