The Cradle faded into the violet hazy fog of dusk and passed into the night with Garrath's defenders and a Wolf Pirate escort that howled at the dim, distant moon veiled in storm clouds. Corflu rejoiced and you were there to see it reborn.
You pass upriver with a crowd of river beings lavishing attention on you, with minor gifts and blessings and promises of help. You've never, ever received this much attention. You feel like gods being adulated. The spirit of the river folk has never been higher, and they attribute a lot of it to your actions. Word spreads far in advance of your glorious victories in defense of the Cradle. Days before you reach Pavis, the story reaches there and has grown into a legend told by many songs and poems.
You pass Five Eyes rise and the newtlings gather to hail you all and wish you well. Then you pass Raus fort, clean shining walls visible from afar on their clifftop perch. The Great Bog is dark and foreboding, but now clean of chaos and pestilence they say.