I become worse, I fear. I am so weak. Even lifting this quill seems a heavy burden, which is quite ridiculous. However, I must persevere if only to get my thoughts down whilst I remain awake.
Sleep. All I seem to do is sleep.
In my short periods of wakefulness, there is always someone at the side of my bed. Baecere is taking such good care of me, bringing me stodgy foods. I eat as much as I can, which is woefuly little, and must endure his disaproval and disapointment for not doing better but I do not mind since I know that he only acts this way because he cares about my health and wellbeing.
Davick also spends a lot of time nearby, or so it would seem to me. Often, I wake to find him lurking in the room, always with words of comfort and encouragement. Try as I might to hide my pitiful condition from him, he is drattedly observant and becomes a little more worried each time we speak. I dislike that I am a cause of concern for him; he has enough to contend with already.
Of Drevorin I have seen neither hide nor hair. When I was still out in the woods, this was to be expected. However, I have been back from there for some time now. One would think he might have thought to find me, but I suppose that a spare thought or two from my betrothed is a little too much to ask. With all his bedamnable plans and whatnot, it would seem that I am rather low on his list of priorities.
Had I enough energy, I might be upset by that. It is my opinion, though, that such things can wait. I need to concentrate on getting better, on becoming well again. If it is as I suspect and the stress of my situation is causing this prolonged period of poor health, then dwelling on such thoughts now can only prove detrimental.
