lone lands

The wind was ragged, pulling and tugging at MossFelt's hair as a small child does in play. Her horse steadily trudged forward through the wind engulfed path, it's head sinking lower and lower to the ground in a attempt to fight off the coming current. She placed a small hand upon her head in a effort to keep her long curling locks from her fragile face but with little luck. The heavens seemed agitated and no wonder with the going war. 

I should have written down the events of what went on before I found myself waking up in Ost Guruth, because now as I write I can't seem to remember the more significant details of what went on the night before. This won't be another memory of drinking merrily with hobbits, I've learned my lesson not to do that often; but rather, I'm so exhausted and sore from the battles Miss Lexi and I found ourselves in while in Garth Agarwen that it all seems too much like a blurry mess of fighting and retreating.

I write with weary hands and heavy eyes, very much in need of rest but I must write down the events of today before I allow myself to relax. A day like today must be documented while it's still fresh and unclouded by sleep.