4 February
To: Oliver Thornstead
Bree-town
My Dearest Uncle,
I pray this letter finds you and Aunt well. There is not much to relate to you at present, but a few things I need to convey. Mainly, that I have been hired to lead a hunting party north through Chetwood as far as the lake, where they wish to camp for a time. How I will keep myself occupied whilst they pile themselves with venison and boar, I have not quite figured out yet. I will write to you again as soon as I am settled back in Combe. Mister Thorne is always reluctant to let me go out of his sight (I say this with humor), but I have stocked a good pile of firewood and lumber that should keep him satisfied until my return.
As usual, I feel a ridiculous need to justify my actions over the span of time since last we spoke, lest you suspect me of falling into my old ways. I have not seen our mutual young acquaintance. And the more time that passes, the more content I become with this situation. When visiting Bree - as much as this village holds a place in my heart - the scene is nearly always the same. Rarely do you glimpse a man who is not somewhat daft, or overly grumpy, or simply a drunken fool. At least, this is the scene in the Prancing Pony inn, which, I suppose, one must be forgiven for. The women are simple and fawning over any man who steps through the doorway, or conversely, bitterly jaded and coarse-tongued, proclaiming men to be devils and monsters while making eyes at them all the same. Suffice it to say that I have not kept a lady's company in quite some time, nor does it seem I will, if the quality of the young women never improves.
I know I am speaking harshly, and I will not pretend that my own prejudices do not affect my tone. The rarity of women like Miss Ulfey and Miss Audea becomes frustrating after so many years of seeing their opposites. I know I mentioned Miss Ulfey to you in previous writings, but have I mentioned the other name before? I cannot remember if I have. Alas, she is a very young thing, soft-spoken and sweet. Nothing flirtatious in the least transpired during our interactions. She seemed somewhat shy and demure, and I hope she has a protector of some kind to keep an eye on her.
I had the joy (this is sarcasm) of carrying a nearly unconscious young woman home the other evening. She was so utterly inebriated that she had lost use of her legs and her wit, but she was at least able to direct me to her lodgings, where she was safely deposited. A youngish fellow who called himself Gregwald was beside her, though not as a suitor, for he said he didn't know her, either. He seemed grateful for the aid that spared him having to try to carry her himself, and I will give him credit for his chivalrous will. We never did ascertain her name, but this is a keen example of the sort of behavior I mean. How easy would it have been for a man of dishonourable intentions to have taken advantage of her?
You see, Uncle? Your nephew is not altogether a lost cause. Have I not made strides towards decency and away from debauchery? I believe you must allow that I have. And I will continue to do so.
Until we meet again,
Your Nephew,
Westen
