((neatly penned in Lumi-kieli))
I was visited by Mister Frimsi today; he came to my and Heaika's ghoati in Kauppa-kohta, hearing me as I was nursing Eliisá, and recognized my voice. Singing to her is the only reason I sing now. She is so quiet a baby, so rarely fussy. They say that a baby born to a sad mother will be a quiet child, but will grow up wise. I hope it is so.
Talking to Frimsi reminded me that I have not written in my journal, when I remembered that I had only one blank page left in this one. He was asking me what gifts he could bring for me and Eliisá, and I suggested a journal. He is very eager to shower me in treasures for I have told him of trade that may help him; he did not know about how much salt we produce, or how eager the folk in Bree and the Shire and other places far from the sea are for it, where they must rely on mines.
It was not long after writing on the last page before this one that my parents picked yet another person to direct me to. He is a builder of ghoatit and laavut, and like me, he found his one true love once, and then lost him. His love was a fisher and he was taken in a storm and the Bay chose to keep him. So he can be patient with me knowing that I will never love him, and he will never love me, but we will be together and keep each other warm and have a family, and now we have Eliisá who was born only a fortnight ago. I speak little these days and he even less. Some nights we are each staring into the distance thinking of who we wish we were with. It is an odd sort of companionship, an amity of loneliness. It is strange, but it works. And it keeps my mother from nagging me to try to make friends.
Heaika does not relish being sent to Kauppa-kohta, as he is no friend to the sivullinen and does not relish speaking to them. I think we were sent here for the winter because there are few of them at this time of the year, so he may serve without too much discomfort. But I have more experience with the southerners than almost anyone, and they wish me to be there to meet them. Since we are now a family we have a ghoati to ourselves, so I do not have to stay in the longhouse. But we must all do what the Lumi-väki need, and this is what they are needing from us this season. I can still make soap here and there are ghoati here in need of repair.
Mister Frimsi plans to bring fine Dwarven steel spear-tips, and flour, and beer, and cardamom, and almonds, and more flour. And he intends to bring me a new journal, which is good as this is the last page in this one, and a toy from the distant east for Eliisá, and a Dwarf-made knife for cutting and cooking, and a good cooking pot to make up for the one I lost all those years ago.
And he will send word to Miss Cesistya about how I am faring. He tells me she is still sitting in the same place, still reading. I wish she would come up to visit our lands. She said she did once, and so could again, but 'once' might be a thousand years ago, and 'again' might be in the time of Eliisá's grandchildren's grandchildren. He has not seen Ruevir, and he also says it has been long since he has seen her. I think she probably went back to the Vales, perhaps. I hope she has someone else to give the ice-stone pendant to. If he does see her I asked him to tell her that Suojelija misses her.
I do not think there is anyone else, except Mister Butterbur, in Bree who would even remember me, let alone miss me.
I have run out of parchment. I will not write again until he brings me another journal, if he truly does. One is never sure how much of what he promises can be trusted.
