I had to go to the market in Bree today to pick up some candles. Ellie complains that I always use all of hers up when I'm around, so I went and bought her a dozen new ones. Hopefully that'll keep her complaining down to a minimum. And I bought a type called "pillars", which apparently last a good long while. The other kind was brighter, and better for writing, but I figured that I could sacrifice a bit of comfort for a longer time to use it. And whatever Ellie uses candles for it's not writing, so it should only really affect me in the long run.
But this errand made me realize something: after all this time recording my life and all, I've never actually written about how a Bree-land hunter from modest beginnings knows how to write and read as well as I do. The short answer is that I used to read a lot as a kid. Here's the long answer:
When we were little, my dad wanted Ellie and I to be able to read and write. He was never taught as a kid, so he had to teach himself as an adult or else lead a fully illiterate life. So he took the long and hard road of learning his letters, and when he had us he was determined that we wouldn't have to do it like he did. So once every week he'd sit down and teach us the basics of reading and writing. Ellie was content at that, but I wanted more.
I eventually got to a point where my dad couldn't teach me any more. I had learned all the letters, and I had learned all the vocabulary he knew. My dad didn't know what he could teach me next, so he took me to the Scholar's Stair Archives and let me read and check out all the books I wanted. Any questions I had could be answered by Newbold Leafcutter, an archivist and a scholar, in place of my father, who would take the time to go around Bree and do errands. These trips would replace the weekly lessons, though Ellie would not come with us.
I read a lot of books in the Archives, of which I admittedly remember little. There was a short adventure tale entitled "The Adventures of Oswine the Pig" which I read a number of times. Then there was a collection of fairy stories that kept me occupied for a while, though I can't seem to remember the title or the contents. I spent a long time staring at the maps in a book on the geography of Bree-land, though I don't think I actually read a word in there. But there was one book that influenced me more than any other: "Addy". It wasn't long, but it was written with adults, not children, in mind. I had to ask Newbold to define what seemed like every other word. And some of them he was visibly uncomfortable in describing. The book could be graphic, but it was also incredibly detailed and exciting.
In short, the book was about a hunter from Archet named Addy who is caught in a war between the townsfolk and a horde of brigands from Bree. He originally doesn't want any part in it, and at times he even seems to be on the side of the ruffians, but in the end he joins with his townsfolk in clearing them out. This book impacted me more than any other, and from then on I knew the one thing I wanted to be was a hunter.
I started actually writing around the age of 12. Mostly stupid stories or simple observations of the world around me. I rarely finished anything I started. I think that, once I knew the end to my stories, I lost interest in writing them. I wrote the most when I was an apprentice woodworker, since I wanted to do anything but work with wood, and then when I became a hunter I fell out of the habit. Only late last year when Ellie gave me this journal did I start writing again.
So now I constantly carry two books around with me everywhere: this journal and "Addy", a copy which I stole a really long time ago from the Scholar's Stair Archives. They aren't very big, so they don't take up much space, and they entertain me when I'm having a boring day, which is all too frequently.
