The charcoal strokes of a neat hand run across a page of parchment toward the center of the journal. Slightly smudged, yet legible.
22nd of Wintring, Dusk, Licking Wounds
I came upon the beast in a thick copse of trees, the trunks twisted and gnarled, and laden with such dense undergrowth that it seemed more of a cage than a piece of forest. The great black bear was easily cornered, its thick hide pierced with some of my best arrows. Its blood leaked like oil from a flask, yet the pain only spurred it on. The bear charged toward me, catching my left arm in its great maw, and would have torn me asunder had I not slit its throat in that selfsame moment. If I were any wiser, I would fear for my life, even as I rest, here with my back against its hulking corpse. Night is approaching. I can see, through a small window in the canopy above. The faint glow of dusk will fail me if I do not act swiftly now. I must tend to my wound, and skin this hide before the scavengers come searching in the night.
I have smeared a salve, and tightly bandaged my oozing punctures. The time has come to harvest this great hide which has haunted my thoughts for three bitter nights on end. Even as thick with late-autumn fur as it may be, I anticipate great difficulty in stuffing it upon my return to Bree. I have been careless with my damage, and tactless in my approach. And now, as dusk fades into twilight, the sharp scent of copper trails my movements like a dog, melding with the sickly-sweet stench of fresh skins.
…
The beast is skinned. By the faint light of a makeshift torch staked into the ground, it made for slow, painstaking work. I must be quick in freeing its finer cuts of meat, and put distance between myself and the carcass before the hour grows too late. Already, the forest is dark, and I can feel its creatures emboldened by the time. The meat has had some time to cool, as slow as I have been, and for that I am grateful. I only wish I had some strong drink to cleanse my bloodied hands.
There is a gap in the treeline, a clearing down beside a cliff face, in a hollow. I think I shall make camp here. I see old abandoned remnants of travelers’ fires, and the sign of fellow persons warms my chest. I shall tie the pelts and butchered meat to a high branch, and make my camp here tonight.
