We met

And it was a good meeting.

Immediately, I was drawn to the silvery colour of the woman's eyes - unusual as it is, I believe that is where the nickname of hers comes. Next, I noticed the hair - partly shaven and flipped aside, a boisterous, bold cut - that, I have later decided, fits her demeanour.

Being called "my dear" strikes me as odd - it is a word my grandmother used, from the mouth of a woman not older than me, and if so - not by much, it felt condescending, however I could feel she didn't mean anything of the kind. Later, I've learned the woman tends to make jests close to mockery, but only against herself. I do not wish her to mock herself, so I insisted that if she calls herself cruel things, she is equally blunt with me. I shan't break down from a simple word meant in jest, even if it is cruel. And there is a chance I shall learn something of myself by means of those mockeries.

We spoke. About her, about me, about him, jumping threads as we saw fit. Never ending in an uncomfortable pause, never shifting the topic abruptly - with one exception that was my fault, I meant to discuss the vocation she chose, but asked about loss - and instead of pressing on, we ended up discussing that. Perhaps for the best, I wish not to sound like I am chastising the woman for her goals, which are noble, if misguided in my vision.
I shall discuss that with her another day, honest as we were, she deserves to know. And it isn't like I despise her, far from. I believe I like her.

The man's words of her resounded in me and I began questioning myself again, as we spoke. They awoke curiousity in me and that topic - which I shan't write down, I know Pinecone reads through my journal and until she enters an age at which to no longer behave a child, I shall be wary writing thoughts too private.
But I like Silver, as a woman, as a friend. We could become such - easily so, I found that calm joy in her presence which I had meeting Oakenhaft after all these years. Though we lack familiarity, I find myself trusting enough with the woman to share my thoughts without a veil of polite dismissal. Though she seems irked when people focus on her leg too much - not willing to be see as fragile, as someone called her the other day. Another Ranger - there are many around, apparently, as well as an elf. I may go and visit that elf - meeting one of their kin was my dream for the longest time and all my travels through the Trollshaws, where they're said to dwell, haven't shown me one - though I felt like I was observed each time I went through.

I like her, I consider her honest. I almost shared my name with the woman, but I felt it was early, not yet time for such. I skirted away rather suddenly - I feel like I shared one oddity too much at an inopportune time, demanding that I only find out her address when she wills to share it with me. Out of context, that sounds awful - and even in the context, I feel like it was an awkwardly placed statement, so I fled quickly. I feel somewhat ashamed of that.

I understand what he said now - how we are alike, I understand what he sees in the woman and what he meant about her harsh life. It was rough and while not without her fault, it still is no reason to dismiss her pain. I told her of my suggestion that he goes with her, right after she told me she said the same to him. That conundrum was not resolved, though I didn't think it would be. I is not a choice of ours to make, but his.

Come what may, I will be content. They are both good people and good friends. Were he to choose her, I would miss what we have - but I care for him, and now - her as well, enough that the joy from them enjoying eachother overshadows any selfish desires of mine to be with the man.
Or that curiousity about closed doors.
Damn you, traveler in my heart. I blame you for this.