The sun has risen slightly, and the morning light now surrounds me. For the first time in almost a month, I now have a chance to write.
Our camp has now grown larger, for while just us three set off from Bree-land, we now number nearly ten. Four elves now accompany us into these strange lands, and three more natives. The elves are of a hunter sort, and they are led by one called Corlathir, who seems to be the proudest among them. However, their grace and pride is contradicted severely by the three natives that are helping to translate for us and to show us the way. Their hair is matted, their beards untrimmed, and they do not carry fine bows, but clubs and pitchforks.
We now sit upon the border, waiting for the company to wake up. Unfortunately, I still cannot write where it is in Dunland that we are heading or what it is that we are doing. All I can tell is that it is important for the safety of the people on the edge of the Mark. Being this close to Rohan makes me think of Brynleigh. I often find myself wondering what she is doing, and how she is feeling. However, such thoughts only distract me from the task at hand.
It is time for me to leave for now. I will try to write again soon.
