I dearly miss Swan-Hoof, and I racked my brains to find a way to smuggle her out of Thangúlhad Fortress, but came to the bitter conclusion that it is sheer folly to return there. At least I have the solace knowing that she will be well cared for, and as she is no war-horse she will likely stay out of harm’s way, but it wrings my heart to give her up to that dreadful place. I must forget about Swan-Hoof and consider my situation. I only have my journal and the clothes on my back, which consist of nothing but a shirt and a pair of leggings. I thought to ride to Ost Galadh and pick up a cloak and a few supplies, but Captain Lomdognir may have gotten word of my flight from Thangúlhad. It does not help that the horse I borrowed belongs to Lieutenant Handelen, and this horse is easily recognized, being very distinctive with his black mane and tail and the slate-grey stripe down his back. He is dark of eye and mighty proud, and he is called Morlanthir. When I first rode him, he tried to buck and pitch me off, but I held on tight, and begged him to be a good horse, and told him that I would return him to his master, in the course of time. He has the most annoying habit of biting, and also bumps me with his head to knock me down, if I am unawares. I have tethered him nearby and he is gnawing bark off a tree - a poor meal for such a handsome beast! I suppose it is better than nothing, which is what I have to eat.
Last night, as I sat staring up at the stars, the moon was high overhead, and I saw a trail of smoke curling up from afar. I headed towards it, and on the hill below me was a fire of resinous pine, and it was smoking heavily. Under cover of this reek I crept up and peered over the ridge. Through the smoke, I could make out a camp of Malledhrim soldiers, and they were talking. I could not see them very well, but I could hear their voices as clear as the birdsong at dawn.
This hath a most sad face, and will breed no good, said one of them. It made me curious, so I strained my ears to listen, not wanting to miss a single word, and they were speaking about someone who sounded like a most vicious and idle person, someone who was not fit for anything. And they talked on and on about him, and said that he was always of an ill humour, and was an infinite disgrace to the Malledhrim. He was said to be tall, and his hair long and dark, and streaked with silver, and he was very thin and very strange, and if they saw him, they would recognize him at once.
But we must be wary, said another, we know not what this person would do, if cornered, for he may be violent, and troubled in mind too. And the first voice replied that he must be, to have stolen the Lieutenant’s horse, and if they should see him, they would alert the guard at once. Then I think they went on talking, but I do not know what more was said, for the acrid smoke was stinging my eyes, and making the water run out so that I could not see, and I had to stumble away in the dark. I went back to my camp and rode off, farther south. I cannot ride back to Thangúlhad. All ways west and north are watched, and to the East lies death. Thence south I must go, and find a safe hidden place. I do not have a map, but I am not lost, merely astray. Perhaps I shall find a green place with a pond and some fruit-trees where I can rest peacefully. Unlike proud Morlanthir, I cannot eat pine bark or pine needles.
I found a black viper today and killed it with a rock. I could eat at least a dozen of these snakes, but they are rare at this time of year. The East wind is biting, and sometimes snowflakes swirl in the air below the forest canopy, when the trees bend and sigh together because everything is brown and dying. Wind from the east, fish bite least; wind from the west, fish bite best. There is no fish in these befouled waters, so it matters not which way the wind is blowing. I do not mind the cold as much as this terrible pain in my stomach. I feel doubt growing in my heart, and a weariness I have never known: forced to go from place to place, always watchful, never able to rest, struggling alone, friendless - it is not that I am weary of life, more that trying to live this way is wearying to me. Reflecting upon happier days brings no comfort - this, too, has become wearisome. Try as I might, I cannot free the image of Culufinnel’s face from my mind and remove him entirely from my thought. There was once a time when we were brothers in heart, cordial and mannerly to each other, and we took the greatest pains not to displease one another. But that was long ago, in a faraway country. This is not my country. I do not recognize it. Here the gloomy shadows are long underneath the lonesome pines, and they make me very dispirited indeed. I must put aside my journal for a time and see if I can find clean drinking-water.
