backstory

Merilin, I write this in knowing that you'll likely never read these words, and maybe that is for the best. And yet I still write them for you, in the wishful thought that one day this dream might come true. For I know that what I wish for would be seen as wrong and wicked, the both of us do, and the sacrifice would be too great, even to such people as us. Oh, Merilin!

Year one, late winter, Misty Mountains. As though by a miracle, against all odds, I woke. I had thought, the last time I wrote on these pages, that once I'd fall asleep it'd be my end. I was wrong. This man, he hasn't told me his name, he lives in this little cottage in the woods. He found me, freezing in the shelter, and took me here into safety.

Early autumn, year two. If I am not mistaken, should I have interpreted these landmarks right, I should be somewhere along the great east road; the air is turning crisp in the mornings. I can tell the summer has reached its end. I need to pick up the pace, but this land is treacherous, and I fear I might not reach the southward road in time before snowfall.