The cold is unrelenting! Again, the sun shines brightly, but the air outside the inn is biting and harsh. It chaps one's lips and hands and stings the eyes. The inn's proprietor, Mister Butterbur, noticed my cracked knuckles yesterday, and suggested a balm that his kitchen workers use in the winter months. Apparently, it is also used for the udders of cows in similar suffering! An amusing thought. I obtained a small jar of the stuff, and so far, it seems to be helping.
A day or two more, and I shall be ready to make my way northward. I daresay, sitting by the fire and eating full bowls of pottage these past few nights has made me rather soft about the middle. I have enjoyed little company, but that is perfectly comfortable and fine with me. I have wiled away a few hours practicing my newfound "skill" of drawing. The first few attempts were abysmal, and the results were crumpled and sent into the hearth. I am more careful now, slow and studying each line as it sweeps from the tip of the charcoal, for I cannot afford to waste parchment. Birds seem to be the object of study for now. Perhaps because I've always found them beautiful, intelligent, and bold in their own ways. A crow was the first to catch my eye near the ruined fort some days ago. We stared at each other, and he stood still long enough for me to capture him on paper. Yesterday, a sparrow lit outside the window of my room. He flew away again almost at once, but I opened the pane and sprinkled a few bread crumbs, and he deigned to return again. It took half an hour or so to draw him, but he seemed as curious about the creature behind the glass as I was about him!
It is a shame that the tall stranger has gone on his way. I would have enjoyed hearing his opinion on my creations.
