Baradar took me riding the other night. I am still not too comfortable with horses for all that my mare is patient with me and has not once tried to throw me from her back. I think I shall name her Arantha for to me she is a queen of equines.
We visited Michel Delving and Waymeet before travelling home again. Baradar pointed out a good few things in the town and along the way that I had not previously seen. I was glad of his company on this small journey for although the hobbits continued to give me strange looks, it seemed to me that they mattered less whilst I was with my friend.
Later in the eve, after Baradar had retired to rest, I decided to sit outside. It was a pleasant night, if chill, and I felt the need for further air so I made myself comfortable on the doorstep. To my suprise, I was joined there by Saelran, the old man I had met in the woods and the father of Davick.
I was, and remain, highly suspicious of his sudden arrival. He said that he came by of his own volition to see if I was happy and well with my new arrangements. So much about that does not quite ring true to my ears.
To begin with, how did he know where I was if not for being told, yet again, by his son?
Then there is the question of why he would come. He has met me only once before, and that at his sons request. He has no reason to check on me or care whether or not I am pleased with the way things are. Even if he really was only passing through these lands from one place to another, still he had no real reason to seek me out.
I found the entire meeting to be highly suspect, but it did give me an opportunity to air some thoughts I have been having before broaching them to Baradar as well as learn how Davick is doing. I did not wish to know much, although the questions eat at me even now. Still, I think it best to put them out of my mind, forget about them and him. He is happy, he is well. I need not know more than that and I fear that if I do, I run the risk of missing him even more than I already do.
I spoke to Baradar today. He is supportive of my plans to leave here for a time, although he did not seem too pleased with the news. Still, he understands that this is something I must do and thus he did not try to talk me out of it, for which I am grateful. He also expressed a wish for me to return to this place once my task is complete. To know that I remain welcome somewhere and that I have a place to come back to warms me in ways that I would never have imagined. Is it possible, I wonder, to truly have a home?
