I'm not sure what to write.. I'm not sure if I should write. I am never going to read this again, and neither is anyone else.. It seems pointless. Here I sit. Alone in a bed, a dim candle flickering light, casting a shadow over my hand that blocks my own writing.. Im glad the job I took at least came with free bedding and ink.. A bit of food..
The guards Barracks are still better than uncle Gimles' workshop.. It was very... dwarven.. I'm not too tall, no, but still more than a dwarf.. I prefer the beds designed for the human race. I fit into those beds.. I miss being a child; I could fit into any bed then.. It wasn't that long ago, in fact. I can still remember when the world was bigger, leaves were greener, and going out into the woods at night was a grand adventure. I remember going on fishing trips when my dad wasn't too terribly busy, or going into town with him for treats after he drilled morals into my head and told me stories of people from Gondor, Rohan, Rhûn, Harad.. Everywhere.. I sometimes miss him still, but I always remember he went exactly how he wanted to, and that helps to cope..
I did exactly as he would want, joining the local watch. I've found myself useful as a sage a time or two in my first week on the job, I have begun to get the hang of things I think.. I know the laws of the land, and I've learned how to enforce them.. I, might have made a few mistakes, but I am still new to it all, and that is to be expected.. I am trying my best, nonetheless.. I have already broken up one bar fight, stopped a woman from making off with a dwarf's silver (helped, at least), helped Odall with a few things here and there, gotten involved in a few cases of people stabbing each other, saved an assassin's life, handled a few trouble-making elves (I honestly didn't expect so many to be in Bree-land, let along the inn), heard a few strange stories about evil dwarves, and made a few friends around town..
I am glad to be in the presence of Mister Brakenboar, the head of the watch. He's a very kind man, very wise, very easy to get along with. He comforts me, I guess. His fatherly smiles, short and serious speeches, ans approachable, patient demeanor; it all makes him a suitable watchman, one I can look to for guidance without feeling as if he will judge me, and one who will take what I say seriously despite me age, or, lack there of.
I guess all is well for me.. Writing isn't that hard? Maybe I will do more later on.. But it is still a bit unnecessary, I was already thinking what I wrote over and over again..
