friends

I'm down by the lake in Bywater
To Frogmorton I must soon go
There's no need to rush
I've no need to fuss
It's a day where it's good to be slow

It could turn out to be an adventure
A journey this fine summer day
I shall borrow a boat
And carefully float
Along the Shire's fine waterways

Accompanying me on my travels
I'm joined by some of my friends
And a hamper of treats
We've plenty to eat
We hope that this day never ends

Diary, all manner of strange things have taken place in the last few weeks, beginning with the feast we enjoyed alongside Loth i Lonnath and some members of the Warband of Imladris.

And suddenly the day had arrived.

After so much waiting, after all the courting, after asking for her hand, after surviving a crisis, the morning of the day of the wedding was there, with the sun shining outside of my window. 

The hours that followed passed practically unnoticed. I guess i had breakfast, i cleaned myself, dressed up and rode to Bree. There i saw a lot of friends, many of whom had come especially for the wedding. We talked and laughed, but during all that time i could only think in the bride.

The next day, I got a visit from my friend Cait, who was overjoyed to have me home safe and unharmed.  I spoke with her for some time, before she mentioned a man she had been tending - one who had apparently been injured in some manner and lost his memory.  His ramblings, she said, made no sense.  Curious, I asked if I could come along and see this man.  It was decided that it would be safe enough, as I would not be alone.  Together, we went to the tavern, where the man had been staying.

It's been some days since I wrote last, and much has happened since my rescue.  I sit here, thinking back on the last few days with a mixture of relief, joy, and a little fear.  For it has been a long road, and I am glad to be back home with my friends.

I was glad to find one friend from Bree, then two and sooner than I expected, I found a third one. Along with Terry, I had another dear and close friend of mine.  And I know very well that bestest is not a word. That it is best, not bestest. But I believe bestest describes so well how close friends we were. It was also a word we used between us, telling each other: “You are my bestest friend.” There is no shame in using such a word. My bestest friend’s name was Skarly.

The night outside is somewhat chill for spring. There is a promise of rain, if the starless sky and rising humidity can vouch for that. Fae's windows are open to the breeze that stirs up the trees and shrubberies on her small estate. Her fires burn low; her candles and sconces are the ones to blaze forth the light that she needs to see by. She sits at a table in her small, comfortable study, a quill in hand and a blank leather bound book before her. At last her thoughtful expression dissolves and she begins to write.