I used to wake up and build my orders, often working late into the night because I had no one to go home to. Now I wake up and go to work on my orders with a skip in my step and cut off when my hands are sore and blistered but not yet bleeding, and sky is still light. Now I have someone to go home to. My work is better also because I am once again taking pride in it.

I could feel the tension from Adiwen as we approached Rivendell, though she knew there was really no choice in the matter, we needed to rest.  After our time in the Misty Mountains, a place of warmth, good food and a comfortable bed was more than welcome.     

Sometimes, I think life has a way of pushing you in the direction you ought to go but don't really want to. It uses sad things and sad folks to let you know that you can't go on as you have. It reminds you that feeling and caring can sometimes hurt; that it's the price to pay for choosing to do so. But still, I wouldn't change that. I would rather feel everything in full and get hurt, and make mistakes, and wish certain things have never come to pass than to feel nothing and never know what joy is. 

People wonder why I stand on the top of the step and watch. It is safer that way to decide who is fake and who is real. Only the children are truthful in who they are. I believed her lie. She certainly was the prude one minute and the compassionate woman that most noble ladies show. She had her act down. I will give her that.

The handwriting in this journal is shaky at best. A shadow of its former grace. But the author would hope that no one read this entry.

Dear father, I shall do just as you have requested! I shall keep a record of all my adventures in the west. I know that you always made it a priority to emphasize the importance of record-keeping during my youth. Upon arriving in Rivendell, I beheld the legends of that place to be true! Too many trees and not enough infrastructure! But the free food easily made up for any apparent lack of infrastructure. Overall I very much enjoyed my stay.

The patter of the rain hit the roof with a relaxing, soothing sound. Isulril sat, once more, at work on a text. These Breelanders, she thought, They do not understand the grammar in Sindarin, nor the particularly Gondorian manner of grammar. She sighed to herself. Even a scholar in Bree was, she thought, not truly a scholar--at least, not to her mind. But then, she had come from a city where grand libraries were quite a sight to behold, and had a wealth of knowledge at her fingertips.

Caladna rolled her eyes at Clay and Teahesto and at their insistence that she stay put while they heroically sally forth to rescue