A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible. This time, the author's manner of speech is far more eloquent and collected, like he had taken the time to sort out his thoughts.
The past weeks, I met some new faces. Usually, it would be the other way around - the faces met me, and aside from a quick chat over a pint of ale, they would usually be forgotten by the time I were in bed. Not so for these last few times, however. Strange, it feels, slowly coming alive again after a year spent toiling away at the forges, doing nary but a blacksmith's work, eating, and sleeping. I'd forgotten what it felt to actually live, to be amongst company and strive to connect with people, as strange and outlandish as they might seem. Perhaps it was simply a desperate yearning for some sort of contact with other men and women. Perhaps such a desire always slumbered within me, ever since I left behind the ones I loved back in Combe.
I miss Ellie and Hudd There was a woman, a strange Northerner. Tylva, her name was. At first, I was as wary as any other sensible Bree-folk would be - slow to open up, probing for any dangers, but with time, it became clear she would not hurt you unless you gave her reason to. It's hard to tell with these outsider folk who pass through the town, but I suppose she's close to my age. She has the youthful spark in her eyes to prove it. I looked at her, and I saw the same kind of mistrust many others would give a stranger in these dark days, the kind of hurt earned from trusting too much too often; and yet, despite her blunt, literal way of thinking, there was something sweet and shy about her whenever she was with someone she cared about. That was when the youthful spark would shine through the hurt and the pessimism - It does make one wonder how cruel her world must have been to make her so fiercely hateful of a little town on the crossroads of the Greenway, filled with little, insignificant people who look out for their own.
Here in Bree-land, us Bree-folk usually treat outsiders with suspicion. We might be a jovial people, but we're just as slow to trust as the swarthy Dunlendings of the south. The unfamiliar unknown is what we fear. That something might upset this careful balance that we've achieved in this little land of ours, as fragile as it was, where everyone was doing their best to make a living. People like the Rangers usually get the most ridicule, maybe because their presence usually heralds a sort of trouble coming.
The contrast with the next person I met, Loakee, was all the more ironic. Unlike Tylva, Loakee was full of life and joy for the world. He was bombastic and charismatic. Larger-then-life, you might say. A sort of class act with many tales to tell, and strangely enough, for all the tales he told, they were seldom about him or his own life on the road. He says he grew up on it, travelling about with parents who eventually settled in the Dale-Lands, far beyond the Mountains in the East. I couldn't imagine being so far from my own Ma and Pa, and in light of what I've learned, the distance between us seems so trivial and meaningless. All smiles, he is. Tylva thinks his words lack meaning and that he's not to be trusted, but I'm not so sure if he poses as much of a threat as she thinks. We've always been very cordial with one another when talking, and he's strangely charming and handsome very well-spoken and eager to learn more about Bree, which he's apparently never visited before. If there's any sort of hurt in him, I can't find it quite yet. He might also be the newly-arrived Jester named 'Red', but I'm not too sure about that. I keep staring at their beards to see if they're similar.
Audea was a Bree-lass I also befriended - and rather quickly at that. There's not much I can say on her, which is surprising, because we banter and joke around often as if we'd been close for years. Like Loakee before her, she was also never one for dwelling on her past or elaborating on where she came from, the times we spoke together. It's more likely our shared roots in Bree that make us seem as close as we appear, but whatever hidden depths I have to get to are buried beneath layers of mystery.
Strange, it feels, having people you could consider friends, but still appearing distant to them. Back in Combe, you could forge friendships to last lifetimes, and people were quick to warm up to you after a shared pint. Even after a year, Bree feels strangely cold in comparison to that. I suppose I still don't quite belong in it.
Or perhaps I'm just overthinking things, as usual.
