We reached Eregion this afternoon, the raven and I.
Having no map and no local knowledge, I am unsure of which area I have made camp this eve. I know only that the cold white snow has long since given way to pleasant green and a late summer warmth that does much to thaw my pale skin.
I am glad to be back in grasslands again. The mountain passes were treacherous and terribly cold and the infrequent blizzards delayed my progress by a large amount. Whilst I am still in no rush to return to Bree-land, I nevertheless had no desire to be stuck half-way up a cliff either. Aside from the snowstorms and the bitter cold, it was a rather uneventful passing, which was nice.
Down here, though, I have no doubt that things will soon become a lot more dangerous. It is no secret that these plains are crawling with orcs and the like. Still, if I remain vigilant then I should be able to pass through unhindered.
For the moment, my thoughts turn to forraging more food for the raven and I. We are again running short. I think I shall call him Nevermore, or perhaps Quoth. I know not why save that I cannot keep referring to him as 'the raven,' and these names seem to lend themselves to him quite well.
I find that my gaze travels inevitably to the south-west. I keep trying not to look, but my attention drifts there regardless of my wilful desire to look elsewhere. I wonder why that is so. What is it about that place that commands my attention?
