*The writing upon this page looks cramped and crabbed, as if the author was having difficulty drafting the contents*
He came to me.
I do not know how, or by what foul sourcery he was able to do so, but he came to me. It was him, I know it.
Davick says that it is not possible, that I must have been drugged or it was simply a relative who closely resembled him, but I am not so certain of that. He looked just like him, he sounded just like him, he even said some of the same things that had been said on that fateful day. It also does not explain how he was able to follow us unseen, get past Davick's false trails and traps and come to me so easily when my wolf was not here to help me.
He thinks that it is something to do with that hawk we keep hearing, but how can that be? If it is not possible for the dead to come back to haunt us, then how can a bird possibly tell a man of our whereabouts without someone to write a message to bind to its foot? There has been no sign or sight of any person following us, just that blasted bird and for all we know it might not be the same one that I heard so often in the woods of his home.
None of this makes sense! None of this has any pattern of logic or reason to it. There are just too many things that do not add up or defy explanation. I feel so lost, so helpless, in a world that I do not understand and cannot see properly.
I sit here now naked, save for the splints bound to both of my arms and legs along with the thick blankets that Davick has cocooned me in for modesty and warmth. I can do nothing save for lean against this tree and wait. Even writing is difficult. Without him here, I would be surely be dead of exposure, lying bound and gagged where my broken body had been left upon the ground.
I am scared, so scared, for the people left behind in Bree, and for Davick here with me. If he is right, if this was all some ruse to break my mind and will, then the person behind is vindictive in the extreme. What, then, would such a person do to the man protecting me? Maybe I should send Drevorin a letter; no doubt he would be able to come up with an answer for that question.
Now more than ever, I am dependant upon my wolf for support and aid. I feel like I did back when I first met him; alone, hunted, uncertain, unsure, terrified, weak and useless. Worse than that, I think I might be losing my mind. How else can I explain having been so severely beaten by a walking dead man? How else can I explain having seen a ghost?
He has promised not to leave me for long, promised to be here in case this shade comes back. We have run again, hidden in some elven ruins in the Trollshaws. That he has made such vows, that we have run so far, that he seems more concerned than ever - although he tries to hide it - makes me believe that I am not the only one unnerved by what has happened. He is doing his best to be strong for me, I know, to find a way to rationalise it and prevent me from losing what little nerve I have left. But for all his reassurances, he did not see what I saw, he was not there and I find myself checking every shadow for sight of the shade of a murdered man seeking vengeance.
