The past days have been spent cleaning this old house, restoring it to its once-pristine state, whilst I await the return of Cyfier. I know that he dislikes the idea of us using this place, believing that we are in danger of discovery in such a built up area, but whilst I have little love for such places myself, I would still argue the point. We are just as exposed here as we are anywhere else. Yes, the chances of being seen are elevated, however the odds of being sighted by one who knows Julian or Seaver are quite low. As evidenced by many I have met out in the wilderness, the chances of being accidentally stumbled across, however, are strangely high when one wanders the between spaces.
Regardless, it is my considered opinion that this place will make for a useful sanctuary and having found a letter from its original occupant asking me to take care of the place in his absence, I feel it only right that I stay here until fortune of restlessness requires that I depart. My stubborness in this respect would seem to have shown itself a blessing already for now such a hiding place is most certainly needed.
Having spent the previous evening preparing the blends, I decided to take a new batch of herbal infusions to the house of Blaecwyn and Eovad. I did not expect the woman herself to be present - she rarely is - but the man, I hoped, would be nearby that I might give him what she needs. I am inestimably glad that I did so. No sooner had I knocked upon the door than I heard a voice call from behind me. There was Eovad, walking carefuly along the path, with an injured and delerious Cyfier over his shoulder.
I am not ashamed to say that my heart stopped in that moment. Seeing him like that, so helpless and hurt, was a terrible thing! This man, normally so tall and proud, slumped brokenly across the shoulders of one who used to be his enemy. I had little time to wonder at that however and, in truth, I have long since given up trying to make sense of the fluid allegiances of the Bree-folk. My beloved needed tending. I had a job to do and I could not do it if I allowed myself to fall apart through fear of losing him.
I forced myself to view this as I would any other situation in which I was presented with a wounded man. I forced myself to see him as just another patient as I applied knife to skin in order to remove the arrowhead from his shoulder. I have done all that I can now. I have extracted, cleaned, stitched and bound. I have dosed him with every antidote I know for Eovad informed me that the arrow had been poisoned but he did not know by what. Logic dictates that it must be a local toxin, but I cannot take that chance; it could just as easily have been traded on one of the caravans.
I had Eovad help me bring Cyfier back to this hide-away then. It was in Pemberth that they were attacked. To take him to my house there, his house or leave him in Eovad's abode would have run the risk of his assailant returning to finish the job. I cannot say that it pleases me to have Eovad know the location of his abode, but what other choice was there? I am neither large enough or strong enough to have conveyed Cyfier to this place alone and even did I have a horse to aid me in such an endevour, how would I have brought him inside the house? I am not happy, but I am grateful.
