18 August
To: Oliver Thornstead
Bree-town
My Dearest Uncle,
After having left your honorable company only lately, I still wish to write you a proper letter of thanks for all your aid after my recent misfortune. You asked much about the young woman who saved my life, and I am sorry that I could not tell you more about her. Having been unconscious for much of my time in her care, and too weak to carry on a conversation for the rest, there was not a great deal of talk that passed between us. What I conveyed to you is all that I know, but if I recall more details in the future, I will share them.
Unfortunately, my weakened condition has left me struggling to keep up with my old duties at the lumber camp. I returned with this news to Mister Thorne, and while he was surprisingly sympathetic to my plight, we agreed that I should leave his employ for the time being. My strength itself is not vastly diminished, but I find I must stop and rest frequently, and my presence would only be a burden to the other men. It is a blessing, therefore, that I still have a small position at The Crow's Claw tavern, and I will not starve to death nor be forced to sleep in the Alley.
I have heard some say that a close walk with death makes a man re-examine himself and find humility. But I cannot agree with this sentiment. It is my own life that has brought me low and shown me my own frailty, of both body and thought. I have striven to improve myself, to become a better man, one worthy of holding up his head with pride and honor. What unseen force it is that continues to press me belly-first into the dirt and make me crawl beneath its weight, I cannot say. I can only carry on in the best way I know how.
A few evenings hence, I sat in the Prancing Pony and dwelt on these musings over a mug of ale. A ruckus came to my ears from across the room, where a man was pressing unwanted attentions on a local young woman. Her face was familiar to me; his was not. In such cases, there is no point in ignoring the situation, for it will not sort itself out and it will never end well. I stood and walked over, and while the man carried on with the usual cock-posturing and feather-fluffing, he soon retreated. The woman was embarrassed but grateful, and though she had that familiar look to her eyes, I bowed my head and excused myself. Was this not the sort of thing a decent man would do? I could have pursued her in her vulnerable, thankful state and had some company for the night, but I did not.
Forgive me for using your ear as a crutch, Uncle. I pray you and Aunt remain well and hale for the end of summer. We will visit again before the harvest.
Your Nephew,
Westen
