9 October
To: Oliver Thornstead
Bree-town
My Dear Uncle,
It seems to have done me well to separate myself from the bustle of Bree-town proper. The loss of my position at the lumber camp weighed heavily on my mind, and was a hard blow to my self-worth, but it appears to have been for the best. There are several reasons for my saying this. First, the distance put between myself and Miss Turnbough; that goes without need for explanation. Second, it has forced me to avoid the danger that might result from my own stubbornness inducing me to try and continue working as I used to, in spite of my new health obstacles. And third, I have found not one, but two new sources of living here in Knotwood village.
The headaches have not abated, nor the confusion and memory loss that seems to come with them. Miss Jacki recommended a particular physician here in the village, but I am reluctant to go, after speaking with one of the neighbors who directed me to a healer in another town a few miles to the north with what he called "a more shining reputation". I am beginning to form my own hypothesis as to the reason for the spells and fugues, but of course, the opinion of some more practiced is needed.
But I forget myself, and my thoughts wander, even on paper. I meant to connect the new sources of income and as you see, got distracted. I did find the woodcarver's home, after getting myself lost and happening on the poor, lame girl who had to walk me there like a blind mule. To my delight, he said he was on the cusp of advertising for help when I knocked on his door, and within the hour, the position was mine. There will be little need for heavy labor, and I am eager to learn more about the finer craft of shaping these logs into the beautiful things that littered the front room of his home. The second blessing came in the form of hearing that The Crow's Claw, which I heard was damaged beyond repair, is going to reopen, and Mister Goldnettle had in fact been asking for my whereabouts to lend a hand in the fixing of the place. He was not put off by my tale of woe and ailment, and said that he would not ask anything of me that might endanger my health. A good man, he is. You and Aunt must come and visit the place soon. I think it would be suiting to both your tastes.
I embarrassed myself utterly a few nights hence, while out for a walk. I intended to simply take some enjoyment of the air before retiring, but in the midst of my stroll, I felt a spell coming on. Whither my feet went, I can hardly tell you, as I lost my senses and must have staggered about for some time. I had a panicked thought to fling myself on the doorstep of the nearby doctor out of desperation, but could not find my way there. Instead I came to, to find my fist banging on the same door of the crippled woman as before. Perhaps my feet went there because it was familiar in some way. I didn't recall her in the moment; it was only later that night that I realized where I had been and who I had seen. Such realizations are terrible and frightening, to know that you've done something without knowing it at the time. Without knowing what sort of justification to offer for my presence, I asked her where the doctor lived, and she directed me. I had no intention of going there, but it seemed a plausible thing to say. I must have looked dreadful, for she called after me and asked if I wanted to come in and sit down. I refused, of course, but that is the second kindness she has extended to me, and I will not forget it. I made it back to my room at the inn without further incident.
Tomorrow, I will visit the village up north and see what I may discover about my condition, and whether anything can be done for it. I may stop in Bree to look in on you and Aunt, if that is agreeable. If there is time, I would like to invite you both to supper at the Prancing Pony as well. Perhaps I will have the chance to introduce you to Miss Jacki, Miss Piper, or Mister Gregwald. Uncle, I know you are still curious about the soothsayer woman who I found so enchanting, but to my great disappointment, I have not seen her for some time.
Until we next meet, I remain affectionately, your nephew,
