Found:
I haven't had the head for writing lately. Too much on my mind, perhaps. Certainly, it would make sense then to turn those thoughts into written word as means by which to get it all out, straighten it up somehow, but... instead, I've found that my will to pick up a quill has faded.
Even now, sat in my tent in Bree-land - again - I don't really know where to start.
Atharann, maybe? He followed us to the Refuge of Edhelion. I wasn't aware at the time, but Ry saw me speaking with him. The others think his behaviour is strange and a little creepy, but... if I'm honest, I don't mind too much. It's served me well in the past, has it not? And I can't help but think that, at this point, with all he's lost over the decades, the man is simply lonely. I find myself wondering if that is why he's so eager to push this idea of my stemming from the same bloodline - albeit the bastard cousins, as it were - as a way to still have at least one friend who isn't going to grow old and die on him next week.
Ry seems to be buying into it as well or, at the very least, appears to want me to give the idea more thought. I don't want to though. Both men make good points, I must admit. Their observations are not exactly incorrect. But I don't want it to be true. I'm happy just being little old mongrel me. I don't need to be anything else.
Scanie is awake. She survived her little excursion of self-pity powered jealousy. Ry was not pleased that I had words with her about it. He seems to be of the opinion that she should be treated gently at this stage. I was gentle, though. I kept my temper, spoke calmly and not once did I raise my voice despite her words to me. Her attempt to guilt trip me was especially irksome, as was her later threat, yet still I maintained my composure. I even chose to take the latter part as a joke and treat it accordingly, regardless of how much I wanted to slap the girl silly by then. I could have done much worse. I could have said much worse, and much more harshly. I disagree that I should treat her with kid gloves, that I should have waited before talking to her. Doing so, I believe, would have only reinforced the notion that she was right to do as she did, that her actions were something to be approved of, even lauded.
Meanwhile, the price for having that probable-Ranger help us track her was an agreement from Ry to go to the Lone Lands and help him with something. Subsequently, the trip to Evendim has been further delayed. After the recent journey to the cold Blue Mountains and the pains that even a few days in the snow caused, left lingering for more than a week after our return to more temperate climes, I feel ever more pressure to get to the great lake and find out once and for all if its denizen can, or indeed will, aid me. It won't be much longer before the weather turns. I don't know if I can face another winter like that.
I made a promise. I must keep it. But with each passing day, I wish more and more that I hadn't done so. I wish more and more that I was more inclined to break my word. I wish...
It's too late for wishes. I'm bound to this. Trapped by my own desire to no longer be alone.
Weak. You are weak. You are letting them make you weak. Pathetic, frail thing.
Weakness has been on my mind a lot lately. My back, my leg, my hands, and increasingly, my mind. My hands are strong, I know that. Fine-boned, perhaps, but strong. I've made sure of that. But that's big things, isn't it? I can still wield my kukri, I can still swing a pickaxe, I still have a good, firm grip. But the finer things escape me now. Too many breaks over the years. Threading needles, practicing the bagpipes, even writing sometimes. These things hurt. My battered, abused body betrays me at every turn and my memory is acting up again as well. Conversations I don't remember having. Events taking place that I don't recall.
Millie thinks it may be linked to some past trauma, specifically the missing week when I lost my ear. It would make sense, I suppose. That is when it started, after all. It's gotten to the point that I even asked her if she knew of any remedies for such a thing, but it would seem not. I can only hope that it does not become worse with time. Ry suggested that I learn to play something - that's supposed to do some good - but that just circles back to the issue of my oft-broken fingers and the pain that such intricacies cause.
How long, I wonder, before I become a detriment to them? A burden? I can't be that. I won't be that!
You were better off alone. You know that. I was better off alone.
I wonder if that river-spirit can help with the rest of it? If she can heal my back, surely she can... ah, but Atharann said the injuries must be fairly recent. Certainly, my back and hip issues stem back several years by this point, but there's still hope for them. The rest... I'm not so sure of. Long odds. I've always liked long odds.
Still, there's no point in getting my hopes up. There's no point in getting too invested in any of it; the spirit, the companions, him. It's all a gamble. It's all temporary. Enjoy it while it lasts, but don't let yourself become too involved. Don't let yourself feel, or want or rely.
Take a step back and remember, at the end of it all, you're better on your own.
