It feels as if it has been a dragon's age since I was at leisure to write of the daily comings and goings I encounter. So much has occurred of late it shocked me to know that I had been away from the Pony and laying siege to Kheledul for just a handful of days, though my return to Cyndwin was warm and emotional indeed. Both her concern and her confidence warned my heart and told me in no uncertain terms that the recent decisions I have made are well done, despite the anxieties they provoke...yet more on such matters in the days to come. Speaking of reunions, I have not seen dear Gretal or my Fille since returning, which has caused me some distress especially as the days seem to tumble past so quickly. I trust that they are well and we will soon begin the tasks which we had agreed upon together.
Since I departed from Waymeet neither have I encountered Audea or Hawke, yet due to Rainfall's return I know they have returned to Bree but in what state I know not for certain. I can feel Hawke's distress and pain like a siren even without making an attempt to do so, and dearly hope they are consoling one another after their recent testing. However I suspect neither has any desire for me to intrude upon them for the moment at least, and perhaps for longer. Time will tell, but I feel the winds shifting as if a storm has passed close at hand, leaving all in its wake forever changed.
Many such storms have passed in recent days it seems, and but a day before Hawke was removed from the Pony I encountered another orphan of the deluges of fate. I had just come down into the Pony, sometime in the late watches in search of tea when I was overwhelmed by such a feeling of abject despair that for a moment I could not move, and it required all my strength not to cast myself down to my knees. So powerful was the sensation that I imagined I was under fierce attack by shadow as it was not unlike the loneliness I felt as I ascended wretched Ghashghurm.
At last my vision cleared, and I beheld the source of my misery: a flaxen haired woman in a gown of homespun, draping a soft cloak about her own shoulders as she watched the revelers in the Pony with an eye as deep as all the despair ever known. As I watched her I could feel the lure of long roads over the windswept plains of the Riddermark, I could taste the bounty of warm stew flavored with thyme and rosemary, I could smell the fresh scent of the breeze as a well loved horse galloped past, I could hear the soft words of lovers, sharing warmth and joy on a cold night...and then I could feel the agony and confusion of having the cup of all such simple pleasures dashed from my lips.
Feeling as if my body were beyond the control of my mind, I was pulled forward and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. She looked up, startled and afraid, yet something in my expression must have touched her, for it seemed as if for a moment she was moved to comfort ME. We spoke for but a few moments, and the emotions were so primal and raw that even now I cannot recall if she told me her given name. From the moment I beheld her, to me she was Wanderer's Daughter, and I knew in an instant she had come a great distance and had a long path still before her until she would be freed from the dark cave into which her soul had been thrown, yet free of it she would be.
I fear my feeble attempts at offering her comfort simply confused the woman and as she departed, flustered, I realized that I did not even know the source of her despair, yet she had the scent of death and helplessness, and the tang of dark earth about her. I know I will encounter Wanderer's Daughter again, and in that meeting perhaps I will learn more, and be able to offer more solace to her in her grief.
It is strange as I recall that meeting that soon after my return from Kheledul I should encounter another Bree-town denizen who seemed filled with a powerful joy, as profound and as terrible in its own way as the grief of the Wanderer's Daughter. This one was called Owena of Anne and she was a pert and pleasant sort, of brown hair and robust complexion. I gathered from what she said that Anne was a title of some kind passed down unto her from some remote ancestor, which fascinated me as I know of no such title in use by the high born of Arnor. I must research the matter further when time is available.
I was with dear Cyndwin when I encountered this Owena standing at my fountain, and she too seemed quite impressed with the woman. In fact she was surrounded by admirers, all of whom seemed to know of her from a shop she keeps elsewhere in Bree. They praised her kitchen arts, which surprised me to some degree as she confessed to Cyndwin and myself that was indeed a Local Baker. How she had found a way to slay and bake her fellow Breelanders without gaining their animosity and armed resistance I do not know, but it was clear the three or four people who greeted her as I stood there with her clearly relished feasting upon their neighbors as she prepared them. One fellow seemed especially pleased with dining on promiscuous women, praising Owena of Anne's "Tarts".
I tried to question my Cyndwin as to how such a seemingly barbaric culinary preference could be condoned in Bree, even praised by this Owena's fellows, but my Aza simply stared at me and laughed and would not explain further.
This is another puzzle which I must explore in more depth, for the woman did not seem to be a servant of the Enemy, and to be honest, the locals of Breetown are often so vexing to me that casting a few of them into a well-heated oven until they were baked to a succulent, golden turn is surprisingly tempting. I must stop by this shop of hers at some time, if Cyndwin will aid me in locating it, and ask if I can select the local to be baked or if it depends solely upon her stock. Perhaps she has several locals in the yard beyond her shop for easy perusal and slaughter? If I may make the selection, I have a list of potential meals that may prove satisfying, or at least nutritious.
Now the morning is well underway, and I shall go forth to see if Fille has returned to her forge and then no doubt Cyndwin will awake and demand breakfast. More to write, but it will need wait until another time assuming all remains quiet before we travel anew.
