I must forgive myself this latest lapse in recording my activities. The weather has taken a turn for the unpleasant in recent days, leaving the hills and fields rain-soaked, ice-cold, and miserable. Our camp is crusted with frost in the mornings, and the afternoons are dreary, muddy affairs, which keep us huddled inside our tent, with our numb fingers shivering over a meager fire.
You see that I speak of "us" now! Indeed, my grey-eyed companion has asked that I remain at his side for the time being, that we may aid each other as we are able, while the goblin threat continues to linger in these hills. Though I assured him that I was quite used to being on my own in the wild, he felt it best to have two pairs of eyes working together, and I cannot say that I disagree with his logic, though the kindness with which he entreated me was most touching.
While I have never been one to cower from nature and all its extremes, I admit that I am counting the weeks till spring. Do I grow old? Is that why I wish to be away from the chilly rain and hard-packed earth? My companion would laugh to hear me say such aloud, for he is much older than I, and no doubt a hundred times more doughty in the face of discomforts. He sleeps now, while the rain plays out its dreary rhythm on the tent overhead.
There is a field mouse peeking up at me from behind a sack of dried biscuits. I wonder how long he has been squatting here with us! I will try to draw him rather than move and spook him away. I would not send him out into this weather, vermin though some would call him.
