I've slept, but I've had no rest. Too many things have piled up too quickly. I've had no time to process anything. I believe it explains what happened during our conversation, will hope that master- Bíld and Maddoct will think nothing more of it.
The man has gotten the salve and has taken on the task of collecting some of the flora for me. I heard part of his muttering. I have my doubts he'll manage to find much of what I seek, but he seems convinced he might. I'll see upon his return.
Miss Rushwood visited with payment and has asked for more oil and tea to be made. With the root I've gotten, I may adjust some things and experiment, give her a new blend and see how well it works in regards to her leg.
I believe that miss Blackburrow has some issues with the woman, if I'm to judge by the following comment made once miss Rushwood had taken her leave. Am still uncertain what to make of her, but it's my problem no longer. By the letter I was given, she's made her choice and I shall respect that and am grateful. It was an impossible choice she forced on me, one I had no interest in taking.
I'm uncertain what has become of miss Ruevir, but I shall be able to continue to teach her. While I understand master Bíld's concern regarding the woman's path towards a healer, I'm still certain she'd make a fine barber. Such work is needed, but few who have the stomach for it.
I cannot turn my back on her now, not after all the progress done. It would undo it all and no improvement made. To deny a person education when they are willing to learn, the thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
While I was once convinced of the vanity of jealousy, I can see now why it's unwanted. My brother might have glorified it and convinced me of its sweet taste, to have something others desire, but it's not so.
A woman comes for medicine and she wishes to take off her clothing. Another seeks to be educated to better her future and she has desires regarding myself. How am I meant to do my work if a woman cannot look my way nor am I allowed to lay a hand upon her skin?
She told me of her own admirers. I can't say I trust them, judging by what she told me, but I've given the matter little thought. I'm not surprised men would find interest, it's only natural.
No, her choice was for the better, I've convinced myself of this. I'll no longer dwell on this, it shall be buried and not thought of again. What's done is done.
As I feared, my experiment with my grandfather's recipe was for naught. The dwarves have confirmed that, while convincing, it's not real. This sat heavier on me than it should have. I'm still not sure why, but I have theories. With all that has happened, the letter from home and then from her, the disappointment of my failed attempt.
I'm uncertain how to correct these feelings. To talk about them is an option, but company is limited and thinning. I've bothered the dwarves enough as it is.
Perhaps I've grown too accustomed to company, spoiled by it. I'll need to correct this.
These feelings frustrates me.
