Spring seems most reluctant to arrive! Days of promising sunshine, suddenly cast aside in favor of a surprise snow storm that hampered our journey south from the hills. The snow was not the light fluff that is easy to traverse, either, but heavy and wet and sticking to everything. My companion and I were soaked through by the time we found an undercut hollow beneath a hillside that was not filled with slush.
His demeanor is ever steady and patient, however, and when he notices me frowning worriedly at the dark grey skies, he pulls me out of my thoughts with a quick joke or the promise of another tale of his long adventures. Our small fire now illuminates his sleeping face in all its rugged weariness, while I attempt to write and sketch a little before waking him for the next watch.
My sketches seem to be doing well, though I'm often dissatisfied with my progress. My companion encourages me to persist, reminding me that I have only taken up the hobby very lately.
Earlier this evening, as we supped on our meager rations, he hesitantly asked me about my scars. I wouldn't have minded telling him the story, really, but we were interrupted by a harsh cry from above. I looked out from our shelter to see a raven circling above us, black and stark against the ash-colored clouds. I felt a shiver pass through me, but my companion said that it was a sign of luck, for ravens bring knowledge and insight unlooked-for. I will try to sketch the creature in an attempt to settle my thoughts, for they are now troubled and restless.
