It's a longer walk than I remembered, to get through these hills. Prettier, too, so that makes up for it, I guess. The lake was almost too peaceful to leave, but I had no reason compelling me to linger there anymore, and at least a possible reason to keep going west - namely, that someone's life is in danger. If I get to the end of this rabbit trail and find nothing, I may be irked, but at least I'll have had a damn good hike.
Following the river was easy enough, as it drains right from the lake and heads through a series of gullies and canyons before flowing into the Brandywine. There's a waterfall here, and I love the chaotic frothing and crashing of the water, and the way it rumbles and trembles the earth beneath my feet. I can feel it all the way into my bones. It makes me feel alive. I've not felt alive for a long time.
Passing through these hills has brought him back to my mind, and I wonder where he is now. Far away, I suppose, and unlikely ever to cross my path again. I wonder if he remembers the...well, of course he does. I laugh at myself now! I may be a little nobody, but even I know some things cannot be forgotten.
I spied a beautiful buck across the water as the sun came up, and I cursed my...my impotence. To be so helpless, so naked, so incomplete. What good is there to think on it? I wind up with my fists and jaw all clenched up until my head begins to hurt and I realize that all the rage within me will not change anything. And then I begin to rage at the brigands who did this, and the goblins who stole my father and mother from me, and the people who swear to care and then disappear and think nothing of the gaping hole they've left in your soul.
Rage is a poison. It doesn't heal, it doesn't help, it doesn't change minds, and it doesn't bring back the dead.
Gods, this journal is dragging on and on. I haven't had a talk with my own mind for too long, it seems. Now my brain won't shut up.
The truth is that I have no home anymore. It was different when Pa and Ma were still here. Even when I wandered, I knew they were there. The house, the farm, my home was still there. I went back every month or two to visit and check on things and my heart was so happy in those days. Even when I was a hundred leagues off, just knowing that I had a place to go back to, where I was safe and loved, and things were familiar and warm and peaceful. It made all the difference. And now, I have nothing. No family, no home, not even my bow, my livelihood, my identity.
Curse these thoughts.
I've wasted the whole afternoon with this pointless scribbling. It will be another night in the hills, it seems.
