mallossel

I had not dreamed in many days. Between the wound in my shoulder - which had been infected, but is now healing - and the turmoil in my own emotions concerning one close to me, I thought I would dream more often than the silence that faced me when I closed my eyes. 

No matter which way I lay on my bed, I cannot escape the dull ache of pain in my shoulder. I feel a quiet hiss of discomfort pass my lips - though I am still grateful, as it is not nearly as pained as it was before I allowed Ithilwe to treat it.  Perhaps recounting my day until this point will help lull me to sleep...

The date and ink are so old that the writing is hard to make out. It is written in an older dialect of Sindarin. The pages of the journal that have been written on are yellowed and weathered and warping on the edges. The fact that it is preserved so well could only be attributed to elvish conservation methods.