What do I think? Summer is at its sweetest, yet I cannot seem to find the will to drag myself the handful of miles to Bree-town proper. How many warm evenings have I enjoyed with the cold ale flowing and a soft body perched upon my lap in one tavern or another? Hours of rousing song and even some dancing when my feet were agreeable. And now I sit beside a stream in a country village no bigger than a thumbprint on a map, listening to chickens on one side of me and bleating goats on the other. No boots on my feet and some fresh-made jam on a biscuit still hot from the oven.
Gods above, am I being domesticated at last? Do I now grow old, suddenly and before I'm even aware of it? Bah, I was never much use at attempting humor and I still fail at it.
A lazy man I have become. Whether I should blame it on a weary life and claim that I am deserving of a break, or blame it on the heat of summer and the pleasantness of this particular hamlet, I cannot say.
After fishing around dawn, I have a long afternoon to while away. A seat beneath the shade-trees in front of the house provides a good spot for a nap, I have found. It also affords me a view of the house across the way. The Soothery, I have heard it called. From here, I can observe the goings-on without being much noticed. There seem to be a lot of faces going in and leaving and many of them appear less than pleased. This could, of course, be attributed to the nature of the place; folk who are sick or in pain can't be expected to smile like fools. But some are familiar and don't appear to be suffering, so I assume they are family, friends or employees. Something worries me about the place, though I'm unsure of what it is. The doctor there has brought some things to Miss Taite - or Taite, as she asked me to call her now - to relieve the pain in her leg. And she says it's helping. But this is also the man who wants to slice her open in order to perform some "experimental surgery" on her. I don't apologize for trying to sway her from the idea. No one should be cut open unless their life depends on it. It is all too easy for such wounds to fester and become rotted, and I have seen more than my share of men, women and children die horrible, prolonged deaths from such. I do not doubt that this man, this doctor, is trying to do good work. But he can find others to experiment on besides my young acquaintance.
Ah, my beloved Aerdre. How I miss you. You would so gladly listen to all of these dark ramblings of mine, and find a way to sort it all out so that it made sense to me. Only here on the written page can I tell you these things now. I wonder how far away you are from me at this very moment. I wish I knew the exact number of leagues. The exact number of steps it would take to see you again.
