Ah, dearest Spring. What a plethora of memories you hold for me. Memories that both bless and break my heart. For it was in spring two years ago that my beloved courted me and we began to prepare for our life of wedded joy. A happier and more blissful existence, I'll never know again. And it was spring a year after, when I lost him. A year of utter, sublime happiness. I would like to feel nothing but gratitude that I loved so deeply, even for so short a time. But still, after another year has rolled by, I feel nothing but grief and anger. Impotent feelings, for expressing them will not bring him back. Thus, I hold them inside and keep them quiet, and strive to smile and to "live" as a woman should.
I did not mean for my pen to take such a dark turn. I will correct my thoughts and get back to the things I meant to write.
A letter arrived from none other than the capital, Edoras, a few days ago. Apparently, my father spoke of my return to my homeland while conducting some business in the city, and now my name is being passed from one person to the next. A man called Déorwine has requested me to help train up some young geldings to be used in the King's service. I am humbled beyond words at the prospect, and of course, I will gladly accept it. I had a thought to ask why they did not approach my father for the work, but of course, he is busy with own horses and about to enter the foaling season. I can't help but feel a prick of something - some odd emotion I can't quite identify - that I was sent so far away from home to work in the north, and now, here I am again, about to do the work I thought I would always do right here in the Mark. There is some sort of irony here, but I would rather not think on it too deeply.
I had the pleasure of seeing Saexwyrd again a few evenings ago. The Snowbourn tavern was a bit crowded for my taste, but he gave me a pointed look and nudged the stool beside himself in a silent invitation to sit with him. I don't know why, but I found it so endearing and kind! I met his uncle that evening as well, a man who struck me as a very honorable sort, named Beorggar. I enjoyed their company immensely, even though my dear shadow lingered behind us by the firepit and caused them much curiosity. There was a woman sitting on the opposite side of Beorggar who was weeping, seemingly about attending to some wounded soldiers, I think? I wasn't clear on what was upsetting her so, but she departed rather quickly after I arrived. At the end of the evening, it was only myself and Beorggar. He was greatly concerned when I mentioned the caravan attack near Woodhurst, and he asked more than once if anyone from Snowbourn was a victim. I didn't know the answer, of course, and told him as much, but it seemed to do little to ease his worry. I wanted to ask more about Saexwyrd, as I find him a curious figure, and his uncle seemed almost surprised when I described him as "kind". I have been reflecting a little on why the man feels so endearing to me, and I have come to the cautious conclusion that he reminds me of my late husband. A little, mind. I don't think there could ever be a man quite like my Conrob. But they share a bit of the same mannerisms; the brusque and blunt manner of speaking, the kind soul covered by a gruff exterior.
My thoughts turn heavy again. I will conclude this entry.
