Dryn

Aeruthuil sat down in front of the fire, the ground soggy. As he glances over towards one of the men tending to another he sighs before muttering to himself, ''At least Brandant returned, fairly in one piece. Physically at least..'' Something which was surprising to him, after all not many had returned from the Moors.

Hell, I was so busy with stuff that I didn't get the chance to catch up on my journal. Things had been...more or less hell to say the least. I suppose I'll write a few things about them though keeping some things to myself in fear of this journal, as unlikely as it could be of someone were to find it, would actually be looked at.

I saw Tothrandir in the market a few days ago. I think he must have seen me and crept up behind me, for I suddenly heard his voice, turned around, and was face to face with him. It's strange, the sight of him sends me immediately back to my early days in Bree, when I was just a lonely, unsure girl who was unbearably smitten with this tall, dark stranger with the gentlest grey eyes I'd ever seen. In a way, I dislike the effect he has on me.

It's been a while since I wrote, hasn't it?  Lucky for me the guards didn't take my parchment and pen.  Why I put myself behind bars is a rather funny story.

There was little sleep to be had. The overnight guards' voices, the shuffling of boots passing her cell, the occasional lecherous whisper of the other prisoners, all served to deny her any slumber.

It was dusk when Aallan could hear footsteps coming through the Chetwood.  At last, he could have his chance to talk with his father and give him a piece of his mind, or perhaps even with some luck even get him to leave Bree-Town and go about his buisiness.  Unfortunately, he was not so lucky, as he scaled his way to the canopies of the forest, he could also see seven more armed men accompanying the man who called himself his father.  Upon further inspection from where he was, and the foliage covering him, he could make out the uniforms of these seven men.