My journey through the Kepperlands begins on this ancient Roman road, the Via Germanica. Its Cepperjoleddic name is Romswearillo.
This glance I took of the deep Kepperlandic woods reminded me of the unforeseen dangers that awaited me on my trip.
Packs of feral dogs are the scourge of the small goat farms that line the border. This particular dog, a Chihuahua, or Gæædflyvmauswlidd ("Ugly Bat-Face"), has been an especial menace. He is called Skippy. I'm told the name means "Terror of the Village" in an old native language.
This remote farm stands as the last bastion of civilization. In the distance, sa Bœr ("the Child"), an ancient pagan idol, can be seen in profile.
I have yet to determine the function of the flood lights.
This lonely pathway marks my entry into the truly wild Kepperlands. The trail has indubitably been beaten bare by the heavy traffic of goat herds from the nearby farm.
The majority of Kepper land is non-arable grassland called græser. This particular spot was an old burial ground. Sa Bœr, sa Fader, and so Maþer, ("the Child," "the Father," and "the Mother") are three terrific memorials to the three spirits of death.
A meandering tributary of the River Įxn. This fabled river is purported to be the very one down which the Arkans piloted the Stoneboat.
After I crossed the river, I was taken in by the sheer majesty of the Įxn. I could not leave until I had more pictures.
Having crossed the Įxn, I found myself in the Gœrsder, a dirty mess of short grass and thickets. The land is quite unsuitable for farming but small animals, mostly squirrels, can be hunted here.
Sa Fader.
The Father.
He marks the halfway point.
A small cluster of trees separates the Gœrsder from Bvuing, the only arable land in the area.
I was surprised to see this house. Missionaries, I'm certain.
So Maþergaiþ, the Motherfield, so called because of the Mother totem which seems to stand guard.
So Þlaxmold, "the Softdirt." Even in the intense summer months, the ground here is always soft. I suspect an underground spring.
Footprints! One old and one fresh. I'll have to be careful; there must be tribesman nearby.
Sa Aew Mendrøþlį
This famous river takes its name from the same root that bears Fordsmender.
Farther down the picturesque Mendrøþlį. This river runs straight through the Bvuing. If there are people to be found this far into the country, they will be here.
Vhiddjuððan, the "White Woods," so-called because of the color of the trees' bark.
The indigenous, non-Kepper peoples, are violent and extremely protective of their hunting grounds. A kindly mission or some other such organization with the intent to "civilize" the Kepper peoples seems to have taught this particular tribe English.
The blue circle contains a white dot which actually turned out to be a person! This young native man, about 16 or 17 years old, was incredibly belligerent, especially when he discovered I had a camera. He must have been frightened of my technology, confusing it for black magick. He attempted to chase me, but luckily he was slowed by the psychotropic substances he had inhaled to induce a trance, and soon he was stuck in a thorn bush and I was able to make my escape.
Sa Dauþtryrmærsaew, or the Sea of Dead Trees, is a lonely stretch of the Vhiddjuððan devestated by an ice storm or some such natural force too old to be remembered.
This convenient natural bridge crossed a deep, dry riverbed.