We have entered the chaos lands. I have to wonder if my companions have completely lost their wits.
While I understand their desire to be quit of this place as soon as is possible, to push ourselves without rest and recuperation is suicide. Aside from the very obvious fact that without a full night's rest neither Elana nor I can regain our magics, we will all (with perhaps one or two exceptions) be less effective as we are weighed down more and more by the fatigue we allow to take hold of us. The land is diseased, and the very rain that falls has become poisonous during our travels, but it does not preclude us from taking rest when we have the opportunity. Most of what has befallen us has come upon us at night. Why, then, might we not sleep in the morning, or the afternoon?
I think we are again in danger of splintering, like the ship that was to have carried us to Sellador from Tel-Tenauril. I don't think we've been in this much danger of losing our cohesion since we lost Jacques. Our doubts and petty squabbles seem to get the better of us, no matter who it is between or to whom it relates. I shall have to broach the subject with Nyran again once we have recovered Lochlainn's shard. While my own distrust of him still rankles, a daily thorn in my foot, there is no other choice for now than to have him send us there. And if no one else will dare the venture with me, I will go alone and find my own way back.
If we do not, how many of us will remain true to our charge? I suspect that a trek to save Jacques is necessary; necessary not just for our friend, but for ourselves, as well. We need to find again our sense of purpose, for some of us seem to have dropped it on the wayside. We need to find again our soul, which was lost in Aljidan and buried under the waters of Neph.