Written on pages kept in Tuilin's posession the following note is written:
A tranquil night surrounds me I sit in self chosen contemplation. The frogs fill the air with their song while bright stars sparkle on the moving water’s surface. I am back close to what once was home after a brief stop in Bree. But I am conscious how all this is just an illusion: few leagues away evil festers in unabashed force. The star that shines for me is equally black as it is bright. My anger yet wins over the calm temptation of renewed compassion in the scholar’s study of Breetown though I have no doubt to see him and his randomly assembled company again soon. Our paths must cross as long as he will try to make things better while I try to extinguish them. And have my recent travels to Evendim not proven me right? No one can be trusted truly, however friendly their tongue. If it hadn't been for the child my heart would not have been touched by whatever fate they challenged.
Let me think where I stopped with my last account. When we reached the river crossing we were expected by Romdin. I see now to whence he had vanished. Discussions went on all night between him (or us) and the adventurers, words got heated and the group tried to slip from our care before sunrise. What a foolish endeavour! There was discontent, open malice and all the while the two elves were in amused conversation. I felt bizarrely out of place in this mad arrangement. No one seemed to question their business. How so? The adventurers really had neither listened to nor understood a word that was patiently given to them and thus called forth the wrath even of fair Nethdir. Maybe it had to be this way. You cannot play with a man’s heart and not expect him to raise his passion when you decide to drop it. (a lesson I too should take care to re-address)
By our own hidden paths we found them in no time, they stood not a chance. Long and weary were the verbal fights that followed, until few of them relented and we allowed these to pass on. I was too weary to continue with them hence after and made my slow way back to the northern lands. This solitariness begins to wrap like a mask around me. At least here I can breathe and cry out my ire. It is what I seek, a search that must be fulfilled or I will never stop dreaming about their graves. Morning has come again, I must move on - to where and in which effective purpose I cannot foresee. My hands broken as they are yearn for an unknown future.
