We left the camp at Weatherfoot.
Davick decided that we had stayed too long, thus it was time to move on. He seems nervous, worried. He tells me that Bree has been quiet, that he has heard and seen nothing that would point to us being followed or hunted. Yet, he insists that we are. The lack of omens seems like a good thing. Surely we would have heard or seen something by now if anyone was after us. Whereas I am comforted by the silence he, however, is worried by it.
He says that it is just a feeling, but one that he is loathe to ignore. He believes that we were being watched at the house and possibly out here as well. In his opinion, whoever seeks us - or rather me - is skilled and clever enough not to let on about it. I trust him, I trust his instincts, but I cannot help but wonder if it is simply paranoia speaking through him.
He tells me that this is just a game to him, but I know better. Like everything else he has done for me, the many and varied ways in which he has saved me or helped me, he does this because he cares. Admitting it would be too difficult for him, of course, but I know and that is enough.
He has gone to collect firewood now, so I sit here alone in the forest of the Trollshaws. It is pretty, if a little eerie. I have passed this way a few times now, but I have never before strayed from the road. Still, my own experience in living in such areas as well as Davick's more considerable knowledge of doing so should serve us well.
I worry, though. Not about my safety or even his, but the people I left behind. By now they must be wondering what happened, where I am and I have no way of letting them know that I am safe and well. My mother, especially, is a weight on my mind. She is in a strange land, surrounded by strange people and customs and I have simply abandoned her. I wish I could send them some letters or word via some other means, but Davick tells me that it is too risky.
