Carria

Here I sit by my camp fire writing my thoughts. I should be in the Pony right now, lounging in a chair by the fireplace with a nice pint, but it seems my stay was cut short by an unexpected visitor. Curse her name, whatever it is.

Making her way through the darkness around the outskirts of Combe wasn't what she wanted to be doing that night. Clara Briarwool wanted to be in bed. She'd earned her rest. But circumstances did not agree, and she couldn't really argue with her mayor, even if it was of a township of only a dozen or so.

The following events occur on the evening after events described in Entry Four: Progress, and before those in "Just Visiting" - Looking in on Dear, Jailed Uncle Wes.

It was late when Sera finally returned home to check on her mother. Her unevenly cut hair was a bit disheveled and her tunic somewhat wrinkled. She stepped through the door quietly and tiptoed into the bedroom she shared with her mother, only to find her sound asleep in her bed. She strode over to her mother's bed and pulled the blanket more securely around the sleeping woman's shoulders before moving to return to the main room of the small house, choosing to sit by the still burning embers of the fire. 

Do you know what it’s like to be afraid of yourself? To be afraid of what you might do?

I found this journal in the stash room. That…that just sounds stupid, right? The stash room. The room I used to stash my weapons and all the shite I’ve stolen in. Like someone isn’t just going to break into my house and steal from a thief. I’m cleaning it out and turning it into a guest bedroom. Because it’s a really good idea for a thief to entertain guests, right?

There is a glade in the woods where I used to play as a child. Up in the hills behind Aldburg, where I was told never to venture. On the other side of walls that I should never have been able to climb.