Journal #3 - The stars above

Isn't it strange that even though we're so far away from home, the stars still are the same? I know when I was little I thought going far away would mean everything was going to be different, even the grass, the trees and the sky. But the same stars are above me here, in the wilderness of Bree-land, as on the fields in the Mark. There is Ægil the hunter, and Eärendil shines bright as ever in the morning hours. Witimanu walks under the same sun, sleeps under the same moon. But the hills are too small, the horizons too near with the mountains always looming close. The air is cold, even this late in winter, and the sun does not warm in the same way. And I miss the wind that blows all day on the Wold. The wind is the thing I miss the most. More even than the homestead, or the fields, or being with Mother and my sisters. It just doesn't feel right without that wind in my hair and pulling on my clothes. I hope Mother and the others are all right, though. I worry for them. There have been so many raids recently, so much talk of war. I feel bad about leaving the herd unprotected to go on an adventure with Father. What if they decide to steal more horses, when they are moving them to the south fields? Mother would not let them take the herd without a fight, I am sure. Oh, I worry about her. But - good news - Father has agreed to go to the land of the Holbytlan. We leave this morning. And Andswaru will ride with us. Father lent him Laðfóta to ride on, a good mare. She is a bit shy at times, but I think he can ride her with the conviction she needs to trust him. They seem to have formed quite a bond already. Now let's see if he is worth his salt, too.