Osyth

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.

Once there was a girl, who greatly grieved for the love she had lost. She cried all day and night. She was like a ghost – the life continued around her, people laughed, but she was not part of it. She didn’t see her friends even if they stood right next to her and talked to her, tried to make her feel better. It was a difficult time to dear Miss Celnessyn, Skarly and Miss Ellae. And for a long time she was certain she would be like that for the rest of her life. But just like everyone else who had lost their loved ones, life continued for her as well.

The girl returned to Bree-town, as she intended. It was a difficult task for her. Every single step she took closer to the town felt heavier for her to take. Her feet started to feel weary and all she wished was to turn around and walk to an opposite direction, trying to find the mountain she was curious about. She was certain she wouldn’t make it, but perhaps the lack of sleep and eat had done its deeds.

This journal would not be complete if I would not write about dear Celnessyn and the bathhouse. Should you ever meet her, you would soon notice that she is the most kind and caring woman. She has the feeling of a mother who has empathy and time for every single person in this world, good or bad. She is the most polite person I have ever met and she addressed people with milord and milady, even though there would have not been need for such courteous words.

The girl had paused her writing and turned her head to admire the view. From where she was sitting she could see all around Bree. She was particularly interested in the mountain she saw in the distance. She wondered if she would be able to climb on top of it, then she would surely see all the way to the end of the world.

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.

Before I had fallen for that obnoxious man, I lived quite calm and quiet life in Bree-Town. Or should I say, boring life. Much did not happen, if anything. My greatest joy after my work was to bathe, switch to my pretty dress and walk to the Pony for a goblet of red wine. Quite rarely I spoke to others. I did not see Derenhir and I was certain he had forgotten all about me. Then one day, I met this boy, or should I say a young man, who was a local.

The girl paused her writing as the anger had taken over her heart again. A tear had dropped on the page and spread the ink. She quickly placed away her quill, for she feared that she would snap it in half, and got up from the chair. She looked around in her tiny room for a moment before she walked to a window and looked outside.

After a while found myself sharing a small room with another girl in an all-women’s household. The household was kept by a nasty old hag who seemed to get great pleasure from tormenting my day. But since the rent was suitable and the common rooms had all what I wish for, I stayed. Around this time I started to get know more people in Bree and see the town in a different light.

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.