Day 60 Egg Milk
The Weather Hills
Bíld son of Bóurr to Maddoct son of Haddoct warm greeting and this special report.
Although my friends encourage me, I rather suspect my egg milk regimen has made no appreciable difference in beard length so far. I have been meticulously wrapping it nightly and measuring shed hairs, and most cluster at about the same length. I included one here for the record, which I hope is not too forward of me; pray hold on to it for me so comparisons may be made later. It may appear longer than you remember of me, but that is because the wave is quite pronounced when it is not sewn down like this.
It is, however, possible that I am experiencing other benefits. I have never been strong in the upper body, even relative to my mother and girl-friends. But, compared to when I first arrived in Bree-land, I feel I can lift and carry burdens far more easily. I can also jog far longer without becoming winded and have hardly had a complaint laboring in the sun this summer, at least not beyond thirst for cold beer. I do not know how much of this can be attributed to the egg milk, but I do feel a different Dwarf.
More like a Dwarf, perhaps.
Alas, this journey may mean the end of the experiment, at least for now; I do not know if Elves cultivate either eggs or milk. At least they sleep in beds — at least Arlis so tells me! — so we shall not have to make nests of clover and moss, unless the fancy strikes us.
All is well in our travels so far. We have stumbled upon the most charming encampment site at the foot of Weathertop. The old firepit is arranged with quaint seating for a company of five, and running nearby is a waterfall which, of course, conceals a tiny cave. Alas, there was no cache of treasure inside, but it was a delight to explore (or at least it was until I stuck my hand into a hollow and found no gems but a mostly decayed rat skeleton, which I promptly dropped on nanê Arlis's head). I only hope that whoever frequented this place before us is happily upon the road elsewhere and met no unhappy end.
I have been thinking of you frequently, in the silences at camp and upon the road. I wonder how your patients will fare by the time this letter finally reaches you. I wonder what new cases you will have, and which will have closed. And though I am sure you are managing fine, still I worry whether you are eating and sleeping well and all sorts of other foolishness.
Worrying, I suppose, is by me so well-practiced that it has become a part of my nature.
When you write to me, pray do not forget to update me on little Miss Elgerin and Miss Jackilyn and all the rest. I wonder at how many friends I have made in Bree-land, in such a brief time — more, perhaps, than I have left behind in the Mountain. But perhaps it has been easier for me to make them because I have been able to be myself.
And if not for your friendship, and your encouragement which did not even once waver, I do not know that I would have quite so much courage to do so.
I remain, with the most devoted friendship and wholehearted esteem,
Yours affectionately,
Little Bíld
