A new journal wasn't what I expected to be given by her, but I am thankful for it. To keep logs may be more necessary than I had first thought.
I am an ungrateful man. I have left the warmth of her home in favour of these tunnels, to think and collect myself. Maybe it's the dark that helps make the images more clear, without distractions or interruptions. Perhaps to avoid the celebration.
Was it a mistake to tell her? Maybe I should have chosen another to speak with, or simply kept it to myself, as I have done for so long. I do not feel unburdened. The travel back was silent and her presence was not the same.
Strange that it was her. I always knew a day would come where I'd speak of what happened to someone, in hope to find relief to this weight. Now it has come and I feel no different. I can only sit here and wonder. Would it have been the same if someone else sat there? Would their reaction have been any different?
Maybe I should seek out this stone-speaker that she spoke so highly of. I have a suspicion I know who this is, I recall mention of such a woman when the company passed through Trestlebridge. I did not trust her then and I still don't, there is something off about her. I have heard the local stories in passing and more, I still remember what I was told by the company. If it is true, there is a reason not to trust it.
However....
If she is as good of a healer as these stories have suggested, then it might be worth a visit. Maybe she will find another reason for it all. To tell me that it was a part of the treatment I took or the fall I suffered.
Dementia. The word still sits with me after my stop in Bree to speak with the healer. It is strange when such a simple word can fill you with dread, one that you have not felt before.
I need something, someone. I need time to think.
