Journal #1 - A wretched hive

After weeks of crossing the wilderness, we have finally reached Bree.
What a sad little town.
I think Father also thought of something else when he spoke of the place. Or when those strangers spoke of it, that time in Aldburg.
The streets are narrow, lined with small round stones that hurt our horses' feet, and it stinks. The people are mean and their eyes speak of fear. They have not the pride of men of the Mark.
But how could it be different, here in the middle of the wilderness?
I wish I was back home in Eksala, riding over the grass. Instead, I have to mind the horses around the clock. They are nervous of everything here.
Father is nervous too. There were bandits on the way, and our escort has cost him dear. He needs to make good trade to make up for it. But I do not want him to sell any horses here. They do not treat horses well in this town, and the people don't know how to treat them right if they wanted to, either.
I wish I could tell them. But I do not speak their language, and they only looked at me strangely when I spoke. I have not spoken to anyone save Father and the other people in the caravan since we left. I feel like I am going crazy.
There are also odd people around, little people. First, I thought they were children. But they are grown people, men and women, of the size of ten-year-olds! I thought they were the dwergaz I heard of in old stories at first, but Father says they are not. He has heard there is a whole kingdom of them, about a day's ride due west. The small folk in this town told him that their horses are better, though of small stature like their riders. Sturdy working stock. I will try to convince Father to go there instead. He wanted a breeding mare, maybe two, but the horses in this town are worthless, I am already sure. He has not looked as much as I have, perhaps. But he will not find any better.

Witimanu fares well, but she too is tired. We all long home, I think. I wonder if they have already moved the stock to the south fields. It is all so far away that even the seasons seem different. Was it autumn when we left home? In my mind it is still autumn there, though this is of course wrong.
I am definitely going crazy here.