Always and ever, the weather of Bree-land cannot make up its mind. The sun is returned now, but the air is sharp and biting with cold. I do not mind it, really, as I always seem to feel at home in the outdoors, whatever the clime. The cozy heat of the fire by which I now sit is pleasant, yet foreign at the same time.
The rain was a miserable affair, and it was while I was still in the midst of its icy and sickening embrace, that my relief arrived in the form of a new face. He crept up on me with the stealth that spoke well of his skill, but I was startled, at least until I saw his green-and-brown attire and the kind smile on his face. He shared his traveling name, and I gave him mine, and he related that our wounded friend was well on the way to being made whole again, which overjoyed me. The post at the fort will be shored up by another within a day or two, and I am returned to town for the moment. There is a fresh need to the north that will likely require my aid for a substantial time, so I will make preparations to return there shortly.
I encountered a very kind woman in the common room of the Bree inn last night. It was nearly empty, so I chanced to sit at a table near the bar, thinking that none would take notice of me. Alas, a gentle voice spoke near my ear, and when I looked up to greet her, there was no flinching in her eyes at the sight of my face. She was dressed for traveling, with dark hair tied back in a tidy knot, and her countenance was one that has seen much in the world. She sat with me for nigh an hour, I think, and we talked in an easy way that surprised me. I appreciate those folk that do not inquire after my old wounds, nor of my business, where I come from or where I am going. I am not bound entirely to secrecy on some matters, but I enjoy speaking of things beyond my duty and my suffering.
