The words won't write themselves. Perhaps if I just keep the pen to the parchment, something will happen.
I don't know where to begin. Or what to say.
Coming back through the gates of Snowbourn felt surreal to me. I had been dreading it, though I don't know why. Perhaps I feared that, having freed myself of the bonds that held me here, it would be like a wild bird willingly returning to a cage. If time and distance weren't enough to shake off the tendrils that clung to my heart, a vicious fever that left me unconscious for days on end, and delirious with weakness for even longer, seemed to work fairly well. I dreamed of many things, many faces, many memories. But I did not dream of the present, and for that, I feel oddly grateful.
There will never be a way to repay the kind souls who took me in and cared for me. I will try to recount what I remember of my time in their home when I am feeling a little stronger. I was not sent home without company. The face that accompanied me on the road back south was not a stranger, either, but an old friend. The story of how he was acquainted with my saviors and how he came to aid me, not for the first time, will be told another day. I have little strength to write much tonight.
I recall how Aeruthuil said he would follow me in my travels and make sure I was safe. But he did not.
Elfswith has refused to let me work, and I am glad. I have not looked at myself yet, but I can only guess the pale, haggard face that she saw. She commanded that I put myself to bed and not even think of picking up a pitchfork for another week at least. Ah, how I missed her! I must make plans to visit Gamferth as well.
I was unsure how it would feel to be here again. I thought it would feel foreign and alien. And it did, for the first few steps past the gate. After having been out in the open for so long, the narrow streets and familiar houses looked peculiar to my eyes. But this impression was so brief. Before my cottage was even in sight, it felt like home again. And I longed to see the old faces that I care for.
I sat outside for a time, taking the fresh air and looking at the stars as the sun went down. A hobbit, of all things, came walking past with his pony. He asked to stable her with Elfswith, and of course I told him that was fine. He was a chatty little fellow, and introduced himself as Corrus Noakes. An adventuresome sort, clearly, to be so very far from his homeland, which I rightly guessed as The Shire. He was seeking a man that did not sound at all familiar to me, and I was sorry that I could not help him, and that I was so tired and listless and doubtless very poor company.
My head is a weary jumble of things. I long for sleep. I hope my old bed will not feel strange. I hope I will not toss and turn. I know this writing is haphazard and wandering all over the place. But I will forgive myself for it.
Behind everything that I think, about everything that has happened this past month, he is there in my mind. I don't know if the cord that felt so binding before has been weakened at all. I won't know until I see him face to face.
