I have not wrote for a while because there is so little to write about.
Davick has installed me in a camp at the bottom of the Weathertop hill. I have never been to the top of it, but I suspect that I shall do so soon enough even if only for something to do. Aside from ducking behind the boulders to avoid the occasional orc scout, there really is nothing to do here to fill my time.
At least in Far Chetwood I could fish, set snares for game or forrage for tubers. Here, though, the land is almost completely barren. Davick leaves frequently to go get foodstuffs and the like for us, or to check the surrounding area for any sign of people following. Mostly, I am alone and bored with naught but the sound of the wind in the dry grass to keep me company.
Granted, it rained last night. I wonder what Davick would think if he knew that the large black cloak that sheltered me from the worst of the weather and doubles as a blanket to keep me warm at night was given to me by Drevorin only hours before the unfortunate incident with Siward. Somehow, I doubt he would be pleased. He would likely accuse me of still being in love with Drevorin - which is true - and of being soft enough to take him back should he ask. Better that he not find out to avoid arguments, I think.
We have heard nothing and seen no one in all our time here. Davick has come across no sign of anyone searching for us - none that he has told me anyway - and we could never be certain that anyone actually was. We left the house in the dead of night based on nothing more than a hunch and have had nothing at all to back it up. I begin to doubt that we were right to leave or come here.
