Journal Entry One

I have noticed the lack of writing in this book of late, but who could blame me? The life of a woman in hiding is not a thing one would call peaceful nor simple. Just the other day, I came to the Prancing Pony for usual purposes. I wished for a drink and had the need to watch the people going in and out of Bree. Outside of the inn, however, there was a young man...no older than eighteen years of age. He lay just near the fountain, groaning and begging for help. I was simply sure someone would help him, as many walked near to him. They did not even blink an eye in his direction. I immediately hurried to help him once I saw him, though I do not brag over this. I am simply glad to have prolonged a lad's life. I cut off the edge of my tunic, my very favorite black tunic, which was no easy task, and I held it to an orc stab-wound on his left side. I am no healer, but I've an idea how to deal with some medical emergencies. It was soon after, when I heard a man walking quietly behind me. He handed me a box with supplies to tend to the lad, and began to help me. Many other people came and went, but one particular man made me wish I had my hands free, so that I might have set his teeth free. He spoke on of how I was killing the lad by using ELVISH herbs and stitching the wound. I trust the Elves and I would never pack a wound with goat feces and donkey urine as long as I lived. Did he truly think it would rid the wound of infection?! I paid him little heed, though. The man who actually meant to help, was indeed quite helpful. The lad would have perished without his help. I never did catch the lad's name, but the man's name was Kristopher. I am indeed grateful for his help, but I have a fear, unexplainable, that I may know him from Gondor. I have been in hiding long and I have no wish to be caught now. There was also a very young girl, but I did not catch her name. The lad thought she resembled his younger sister. The poor lad lost his father in the Marshes. I plan on hunting the Orc party that did this, and tearing their muscle from bone. No lad should have to see his father killed and devoured. It may be the death of me, but I care for the people I meet here. I might be finding myself in love with Bree. I do hope it is not stolen from me as my beloved Gondor has been. I continue to go by the name Dru, so that one might not know my true name is that of the Sindarin tongue. I wish to be rid of such burdens soon. This false accent burns my tongue...to sound so foolish! I must finish now. I've plans to fulfill. ~Drubainbess