[This entry is written in Sindarin in a small leather-bound book.]
I feel like a mischievous child again.
I can’t remember the last time I did something merely because it was fun, even if it was not the best and wisest thing to do. I have made a friend in Lamaenon, an elf my own age, who brings out a side in me that I thought long-dead. I am sure the Prancing Pony will not forget our visit anytime soon… Of all places, the Pony, a place I did not even want to walk into the first time Aethrendis and I traveled to Bree. I can tell she is proud to have contributed to my fall from… as she puts it, ‘stone-faced, pointy-eared, stick in the mud’ status. She’ll just have to find a new nickname for me, it seems.
