Two nights, two hearts, two strangers

Illness has overtaken me, much so that I had to remain home, missing the moot I was supposed to attend. I shall have to boil the bones the time I attend, though it may not be just yet. I am ill yet, much to my foolishness, I have attended a ball without my winter coat. Today, I awoke with a burning cough in my lungs, which means I shall miss the moot this day as well. Rotten luck, I would say, but it was my own foolishness that caused it, not fates.

In two nights, the year ends and I shall write the summary. It will be sweet and bitter, but with a flavour of hope - one I taste each time I see Silver and the wanderer. Last eve, I saw them together, for the first time. Walking side by side, in splendid outfits, with cheer to their voices. I thought, when I mused over it in the past, that seeing them together shall cause a prick in my heart, but it did not. In fact, it began to beat stronger, filled with warmth. They look happy, my friends, together. It is a sight I could look upon often.
Perhaps I should commission a painter to make a portrait, then have it copied for my own use and gift them the original. Others would find it odd, but their joy strengthens me.

It is a shame I did not spend more time with them, but other business caught my attention. I met two people on the ball, two of the other woodmen. Hound-friend and Home-wright, they called themselves, I have heard those names earlier, from the Tree-walker, who was absent, I heard. There are new pups to be born soon and they, much like I, seek goods for trade. Ones they cannot make. Ones I cannot make either, but I have pointed them towards several places that they could find what they seek. I saw the Hound-friend speak to one of the people I mentioned later, woman whose name I heard shared freely, but even though I felt comfortable using it in the eve while discussing the woman, I do not feel so writing it down. There, she was known and by her own will. My journal is mine alone and she had not said her name to me. I shall only write it down if she ever speaks it to me.
Using it in that conversation already feels like a stretch. I shouldn't have done that, I blame the illness as much as my own distracted min. It shan't happen again.

I hid some chestnuts under the larder floorboard, in a waterproof, waxed bag. I have not the strength to roast them today, but perhaps in a day or two, I shall. Perhaps for the night of the cycle's passing. End the year and begin one with the same snack.

A toast for the good of the past, and hope for the good of the future.