I don't know from where to start. A lot has happened since I arrived here in Bree, I can call it a second home already. It is amusing to hang around, I've made some friends (or at least, that's what I consider them), I've drank my fair share of ale. But there's something missing. And I know what it is: The plains.
The plains in the Mark lift my spirits that much. Making my way through the tall grass as me and my old friend Grimme rode through the hills, watching the sunset in The Wold was just... perfect. And the silence. Oh, the silence.
Is it safe to go back now? What if those wild-men catch me and enslave me again? The whip wounds in by back are still healing... But the scars will stay for good. I hope my company managed to escape the hand of those... bastards. At least, the ones who survived. How could we let this happen? Being ambushed by them? What if I get back and my name's dishonored for letting that happen? Was my company forgotten? All these questions, and no answer whatsoever.
For now, I'll stay. There's no other way, I swore an oath, and oath's are not meant to be broken.
((The following is written in Rohirric, with a slightly messier look))
[R] Damn elves. For all that is holy in this forsaken land, they're still annoying.
