In the days since my last entry much has happened and yet little has occured.
I have seen no more violence in or around the inn, thankfuly, however Damondir has returned to this place injured. He claims to have been walking the land near Angmar, but refuses to divulge his reasons for doing so. Regardless, he was shot with a poisoned arrow and is, it seems, too foolish to rest; instead he risks his life and health by coming to Bree so as to find company. 'Tis good fortune that he has, I suppose, for I know the remedies whereas those close to him do not. For that reason, I have spent the last few days seeking the correct plants and preparing the necessary tinctures and tisanes. Hopefuly, by the time I get these to him he will not have further damaged himself.
Meanwhile Ersk is yet another new face. I am far from certain of him, having only spoken with him twice at the time of writing. Thanks to Tillie, he now knows my name although I was happy to keep it from him until I could be more sure of his character. Still, I cannot be displeased; she knew no better.
Davick, on the other hand, is making a nuisance of himself again. Old promises mean nothing to him it seems. After all we have been through, after all he has put me through, I find that his childish behaviour and bitterness is wearing on my patience. The more I see of him these days, the less I like and I begin to wonder how I could ever have harboured feelings for this man. All he engenders in me now is a mixture of pity and contempt.
I sit here now, in my customary chair in the inn, this book on my lap and Arugru at my feet. Outside it is raining heavily, the drops falling like heavy tears upon the pane and my mind is drawn back to a recent conversation with Seaver. He told me that he has never known it to rain so much in any land beyond this and I must say that I have noticed the same. It always seems to rain in Breeland as if the sky is trying in vain to wash away the taint. Can it wash away my worry? Can it was away my heartache?
I watch the rain fall. I feel the coldness inside and the warmth around me. I watch the rain fall and I wonder if he is well. I refuse to believe him dead. I refuse to give up hope. Where are you, Cyfier?
