Well, Diary, now I can say I have been on a boar hunt. I dared not leave the fates of my friends to chance -- and indeed, one of the Hammers took a blow to the face. I ordered that he stay awake for the next six hours, that I might watch for signs of concussion. I write this before that time has elapsed, but it is my hope that the poor lad will not suffer too much for his eagerness to please the Sergeant.
Accompanying us were several members of Thlim Telparin, including Alassënto, who I believe is their leader. He jests a very great deal, more than is frankly to my taste, but he did us a great honour by coming along -- and his spear was handy. One of his men, Tulkos -- named, of course, for the Great Hunter -- had with him a contraption that also came in very handy, a sort of hand-cranked ballista. This dropped one of the boars with a single shot, as did Galdorion's bow. He really is good for something besides hair and sculpture! I had no idea he was such a fine shot, but he placed the arrow perfectly behind the shoulder, and it drove in sufficiently to pierce the boar's enormous heart. Both did themselves proud this day.
Dear Losgael! She offered me her arm at a number of points, as when we climbed down the great cliff above the Ford of Bruinen. She must think fragility is a necessary component of great age, or else it is simply an aspect of her extreme loyalty to me, having all but appointed herself my personal champion. Of course, only a quest and a ceremony remain to be completed before she is recognized as my kinswoman also. But I deem she sees herself as such already. A great heart beats beneath her hauberk.
On the Great East Road, we had two encounters -- not counting the group of Naugrim and Periannath who thundered past on the backs of hardy ponies, without so much as a nod or wave! The first was occasioned by the arrival of an Olog, the very sort that give the Trollshaws their name -- the weakest kind: sloppy, made almost completely of fat, not at all like their Curr-olog cousins in the northern hills. As seven healthy Quendi debated whether or not we should engage the thing, a single elleth, possessing fierce magics, appeared as if out of nowhere and dropped the monster in its tracks! That was that settled. (Losgael was the one arguing the most to engage the beast. I deem she is eager to prove herself, not only to me.)
The second encounter was with a helpful Daughter of the Second-born. We found her shooting the elk that roam in plenty near the road. Daegond asked whether she had seen boars, and whether she might lead us to them. This she did. I took off after her on the pack-horse, and Alassënto after me at a run, and where the huntress indicated, we found plenty of the beasts. I deem my brother was well pleased -- he looked positively radiant doing the job from which the squeamish recoil, emptying each beast of its gralloch and saving the intestines for sausage-casings (I requested the livers as well, for they are exceptionally healthful for the wounded), without spoiling any of the meat.
So, the count is eight boars, one credited to Galdorion and one to Tulkos (I frankly did not see who slew what, in the charges of the others), and one Hammer with a slightly dented head. Perhaps now my brother will stop complaining so about lettuce, and quit feeding it to his swan... of course your beast will lay only green eggs, daft one, if you feed it only on green foods -- I saw him feed it an apple, of all things, far away from its natural diet, and one of the species mistakenly called "golden" when its skin is pale green! He also does not believe that the colour of the shell has no bearing on the nutritive value of the egg... but all that may be moot for at least a few weeks, as he and his men feast on pig-flesh, and we are talking of the same Noldo who thinks his bird is a male who merely has the feminine hobby of egg-laying. Ai, Daegond... yet Themodir loved him so. If only I can get him to quit his feud with Dillothwen, then I will have truly accomplished something.
