Seaver

A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible. This entry is written with a noticeable amount of introspection and jumbled thoughts piled one over the other, as if the author's feelings were very much in disarray.

Found:

Clarity.

Since leaving Rohan, I've had naught but time to think. I could dwell on apprehensions of what lies in wait for me, but I'm tired of doing so. Rather, my mind turns to specific portions of that. Not to the fears I have concerning their various reactions to my return but to the people themselves. To the people I walked away from, to those I left behind, each individual so very different and yet so perfectly poignant in their own way. My thoughts lie with them.

"-...ye have two days. If ye come back t' Ost Forod withou' a cart, ye're no' leavin' these lands wi' a head.", the gruff trader grumbled, one of his calloused hands having a rummage with the back of his reddened hair, "If ah find out tha' ye're no' worth the extra coin..."

Dagramir laughed, a foreign accent chiming out mirthfully through the ruins. Local men nearby turning their heads in annoyance to the clearly unwanted visitor. 

Found:

A new plan!

Today has been interesting.

Neyaa. Dear, darling, delectable Neyaa! Oohhh, that woman!

Found:

Boundless entertainment.

Found:

Towerglan. Again.

So, bored out of my pretty little wits and in severe need of a change of scenery, I utilised that handily situated trellis to get myself up onto Steel's back again and rode myself straight out of Bree!

To Towerglan.

Found:

The floor! Hah!

I've begun to walk! It's not fast and it's not far - perhaps a few steps at most - but I can carry my own weight, unsupported, briefly before I fall flat on my face. It's not much, but it is progress! It's proof positive that I can come out of this entire ordeal intact, that I can get on with my life in spite of them.

“What is it we are doing here Neyaa?”  That was the question he asked that led to that terrible fight that almost cost us our friendship. And now I pose the same question, ‘What is it we are doing here?’

Found:

A little release.

Well, that was fun!

My last night in Bree-land was spent singing, dancing and drinking. Not so much the latter, of course, regardless of how many of the locals tried to ply me further. No, it would have done no good to drink myself into oblivion the night before setting off on what, I hope, will be my last foray into the wilds.