Viljawyn

Dear Viljawyn,

If you are reading this, then the silver pieces and trust I gave to some merchants in Bree has not been in vain!

Osyth closed his eyes.

As he opened them again, he let out a sigh and stretched his long muscular legs until his toes broke the surface of the water. He wriggled his toes and grinned at them, before leaning back on the edge of the bath. “Life is good” he murmured, the warm water massaging his thick muscles as the scent of soap filled his nostrils.

The hovel of a home, hung with birds, rabbits and herbs from its cracked plaster ceiling. Baskets, boxes and bottles, the contents were familiar to her, their uses being to season, to heal, to harm. The fire never seemed to die down in the hearth, its bright flames causing the shadows of dead fowl, small skulls and trinkets to cast long shadows upon the wall. A garden spider, no bigger than the thumb became a shadow to haunt the dreams, but it bought her peace. Home.

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Cracks in false stone -- Part Two

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In a certain inn, not too far away, a young woman sat by a table and looked at a journal lying on the table. The journal's cover was red leather and pages were fine paper, more finer than she could afford with mere barmaid’s salary. But as she saw it on a market day half a year ago, she knew she had to save it. At the time she was just a farmhand and she had no idea that her life would be turned around. Perhaps buying the expensive journal was an omen.