Everything hurts. I should have given myself time to recover.
I fell off of Hawthorn somewhere east of Bree. Someone picked me up, carried me to the Prancing Pony, where I regained consciousness five hours ago. Hawthorn was waiting outside in the stables. How I earned the loyalty of such a steadfast companion, I will never know. I rebandaged my wound, and then just sat in the tavern, drinking myself somewhat stupid. Why am I here? Why did I leave without trying to first figure out what happened?
It hardly matters. I am now without home, without title, without influence, and without a purpose.
I met some nice women today. Ashwyneth, Brynleigh and Owena, I believe their names were. They provided quite a bit of wonderful company. Ash was then kind enough to check on my wounds…. The hole in my chest had reopened, I had torn my stitches. I resigned myself to renting a room I can’t afford to maintain for long. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.
