Journey

Many days have passed since my last entry, and I have tried to deepen my conviction to not use up too much of this little journal too fast.
However, developments have been ongoing during the time the ink was absent from these pages. My exploration of this forest has led me deeper and deeper among the shadow of its trees, careful to not upset its sensitivities, yet determined regardless to find what ever knowledge it has to offer.

A few days have passed since I last sat down to fill these pages. I would have written every single day, yet I wish to restrain myself some, to not fill this small journal too fast.

Yesterday I arrived in Bree, and my first action was to take almost all of father's scrolls and books to the local archives. The scholars there thanked me greatly and rewarded me with a small amount of coin, less than I had hoped for, yet I shall comfort myself with the thought that surely father's collection will bring benefit to the local people.
Motte certainly seemed relieved to find me emptying the saddle bags, however, they will be filled again, though hopefully nothing returning to them will weigh as much as those books.

(A small leather bound journal of a reddish brown, some pages previously having been torn from it, as well as the first pages filled with some notes about plants, some unfinished poems, and a list apparently written for a shopping trip to the market. The following lines, the first of what appears to have turned into a diary.)

It was the middle of the night, Uruniire, tired of the Bree-lands, longing to be in elvish lands again, got up out of bed, put on his purplish-blue and green tunic and trousers, wide-brimmed hat, blue, with a massive feather in it, and pack, stuffed to the brim with books and scrolls, some rations, a coil of rope to scale the High Moor just outside Rivendell, and a small dagger for defense, and grabbed his staff. Then he left the Inn of the Prancing Pony. He went to the stables nearby, untying his horse from it's post, and was off.

First entry

Here I sit, in hiding, to write my thoughts to you, Ola, honoured father of father. My heart still grieves for you, though it has been 5 winters since you left us. I still remember the day, that day when you did not return to the homefire. Wicked magic it must have been, which made that bear so strong, for you were the best hunter and warrior we knew.

The Departure

Our company stood prepared and awaiting the ambassadors while the early rays of the sun breached the golden forest of Lorien. A company of 25 would depart the realm of the Lady Galadriel and make the arduous journey to Imladris where the Hall of Lord Elrond awaited them. Amongst the Marhwardens protecting the ambassadors I stood, prepared but weak legged because it would be the first steps outside the borders of Lothlorien.