rohan

As neither of us were in a hurry our speed of travel was quite tardy. As ever since we met, few words were exchanged between Snorru and I, though a few passing comments about the local flora and fauna we did make as his love of nature seemed to match mine. Yet the waggon rolled on without merry thoughts as recent events held nothing to be merry about. Snorru's wife lay dead, her body nestled among the sacks of grain behind us and my sullen companion had lost everything else as well, save his merchandise and his home in Galtrev towards which we were now bound.

They gathered outside of Cliving, near the path to Wildermore and the watchtower closest to Eaworth. Two groups of men, standing about chatting idly in the warm morning light. The larger group of the two sported the image of a planty green helm crowned with a horse’s head on the white background of their shields. The smaller group had a red harp on a yellow background on their shields. Both seemed nervous and alert, awaiting their orders.

Now Snorru was a silent, brooding type, as whoever had lost everything in a blink of an eye might surely be. But I reckon he was like that beforehand too and was never one to speak without a reason, nor did he seem to show much emotion save for that fleeting moment by the body of his dead wife in that cave in the Gravenwood. After that tragic incident we had formed a curious yet mistrustful bond, for because of the long enmity between our people neither of us could fully be at ease near each other.

While we rode on more warily after being waylaid by the Orc grunts that night by the border of Gravenwood, we kept pressing on as our hearts still burned for adventure. Perhaps even more so now that we had tasted its sweet taste and the rush. 'Twas not quite the same as patrolling the Mark with fellow Riders, battling whatever danger had passed the borders into fair Rohan and engaging them in petty skirmishes. Nay, there was a sense of excitement differing from it now that we were alone and a long way from home, me and Sigefaest.

Once again I find myself quill in hand. Since last I wrote I've found a peaceful area in Bree-land to call home away from home, though that is a story in itself. More than likely no other shall gaze upon these pages, but still I wish to pen my recollections. For myself and later years. Perhaps for some offspring of mine to read, should I yet be blessed with some.

Ever since I was a wee lad I've done my best to sift through all the books and dusty tomes I came upon anywhere in the Mark but never did I think of writing a simple diary, such that I've now opened and staring at its blank first page. It is because of... well, loneliness, or mayhap a need to document my travels and dare I say, adventures, in these far-away lands, that I now grasp the quill.

The two Reeves stood opposite each other, in the currently empty Mead Hall of Cliving. There was a slight air of challenge between them, both being proud men. They stood tall, saying nothing, watching each other in the dimly lit room. Reeve Ingbert folded his large weathered hands together behind back. Reeve Athelward crossed one arm over the other, covered in the rich fabric of his tunic. Ingbert frowned, the wrinkles on his old skin deepening.

With all these nightmares and the past chase on the trek to my house, with my training started to really teach me how to deal with threats, I believe its time to deal with these nightmares. I did my chores, anxious to get to rest, hoping that the nightmare will happen again. Dinner was good, as always it is. I went to sleep quickly, and soon descended into the same, dark, dimly lit, forest that I was in before in the other nightmares. This time I was with a lantern by my hip, shield on my left hand, and spear in my right. I was ready to face my fear, or at least attempt to.

A exile framed by his brother,
Surprising to his mother,
A lie one after the other.
 Cast out with shame and anger
Not daring to give them an answer,
Having been slandered.
Saying last goodbyes to his friends
For this is where friendship ends.