*Sat at the small table within their home, she pushes the piles of books to one side to make room for her own, his journal still laid open at its last entry. Taking quill in hand she hastily scratches an entry within her own.*
I look around this house, fine furnishings reaching each corner, you cannot move your eyes but to see another plush cushion, another sparkling trinket, a wealth of books alone.. No, I am wrong for this has become a home, everything within it means nought to me bar my love and my son. It is love that creates a home, not wealth, not pots or flowers. They mean nothing to either of us, some work a lifetime to obtain what we have in our home, but mistaken they are because it is the love we hold for each other that is true wealth. I pity those who would never experience such joy, such comfort from just a touch or a look..and now, I feel poverty, for I cannot have either but only the memory of such. He has gone..
*pauses to take a sip of water from a nearby cup, unaware of the tremor in her hand*
Arrangements have been made should I ride out, Orlenne, a sensible woman with no ties to unpleasantness shall watch Dern within our home, there are those too who have offered to accompany me should he have been lost to madness, to protect me, to protect him? I need to ride out, I find waiting for word insufferable. I am now to send word to the fair folk, those who might aid, those he might seek out. An exercise in futility? Perhaps, but I cannot do nothing, he had only just returned, he cannot leave his family again. I will not lose him to the darkness he sees.
*looks over her writing, startled as a small splash of a tear falls upon the page. With a renewed determination she wipes her face and gathers up the notes, sealing each one with white wax and sets out..
