The last few days have been hard. In truth, no day since I left the Shire has been easy, but these ones are harder than most.
There is still neither sight nor sound of the main group. They have been gone for days now, the noise they created long since faded beyond hearing. I fear that they shall not return. I am scared for them, and for us; myself and my companion.
Violet tries to reassure me that we will be fine, that they will come back. He is adamant about this. There is no doubt in him. There is also no doubt in him that his leg will heal. I have stitched his wound, cleaned and redressed it thrice a day, but the air here reeks of death and for all my efforts it is now infected. He is developing a fever that I can do naught to combat.
Would that we had it quiet here, perhaps then I would do better with his care, but we do not. Twice now I have been forced to defend us from beasts that have been brought hither by the smell of blood. Twice now I have been forced to fight. On both occasions Violet has been of help; he could still shoot his bow then. What of next time, though? What if he is too sick to do so should we be attacked once more? Could I possibly fend off even a lone warg?
