It has been quite a long time since my last journey to the Soft-Lands, but it doesn't seem as long, because I spent nearly three weeks of it asleep. Now, I want to do nothing but drink beer and watch the stars and listen to people talking, and not sleep again for days at a time.
I can't write in this journal about the business of the Eglain, my work as a scout, save occasionally when it's utterly harmless (like my last entry more than a month ago, where I spoke of buying farming tools from Allyster (which were later delivered)). But I can certainly speak of how it can be dangerous. Events this spring led to it becoming much more dangerous, enough that the tribe had to seek outside aid. The result was apparently a most dramatic battle involving infantry and cavalry, tactics and trickery, and even a few surprises. And I missed almost all of it by virtue of foolishly getting myself almost killed right near the beginning.
Thanks to the skillful hand of the Elf Cesistya (and help from both her horse and Frideric in getting me out of the pitched battle) I was saved, but it was almost three weeks before I awoke. I slept on one of the cots at Ost Guruth, near Leofwenna, who was also recuperating from life-threatening injuries. Strangsig had to tend me, spoon soup into my mouth, keep me clean, and change my bandages, day after day after day. You can be sure she's going to remind me of that for years to come. Even now, after an additional week of bed-rest, Frideric won't give me any more strenuous or dangerous assignment than another trading journey, restocking our grains and other foodstuffs. (Hopefully this will be the visit when I finally find Marnewyn at her cottage so I can collect the barrels I hope are waiting for me, too.)
There's a lot of faces in the Prancing Pony I've never seen before, and I've yet to see any of those who came to our aid (other than Cesistya) to thank them; but there's a strange joy just to stand here, a beer next to me, with the voices of many people around me, speaking of things I know nothing of, but constantly speaking. It all feels so very alive, so vibrant, so full of energy.
It's not that I had a brush with death and now I need to cling to life. That's corny. It's more that all that time asleep makes me want to be awake. More than that, to feel awake.
I suppose maybe it is pretty close to that after all. Maybe I got injured so badly I became corny!
