Betts has recovered well and returned home to her family. She was distraught over her dress, but an immediate soak in cold water and some gentle scrubbing removed most of the blood as it had not yet dried into the fibers of the cloth. The poor creature was too weak to object to being stripped of her garments, which worked well in my favor. I bathed her as she slept and covered her in one of my shifts until she woke. I sent her home the following morning with a jar of bone broth and the suggestion to rest as much as she could until she felt herself again. We discussed what excuse she would give to her husband for being away overnight, and while I was not opposed to spinning a tale in order to secure the peace as well as her safety, she concluded that she would tell him the truth. I asked her to refrain from using my name or the location of my home, and she agreed.
The couch cushions were a loss, and have been burned. They will not be difficult to replace.
I visited the address of the doctor, Dimheim, but he was not there. I spoke briefly with Aeruthuil, who seemed unwell himself, and confessed as much when I asked. I was concerned that two ill men might be struggling to get on and take care of each other without aid, but he assured me that a competent third party has been involved. Alas, I was not able to inquire about the autumn crocus, and as time passes, it seems more and more a wisp of hope that will never materialize. I am accepting of this.
I am still cogitating the visit of the stranger, Crow. Not the name given at his birth, no doubt. Not a man of Bree. Yet he seemed to suggest he felt he was some sort of protector of the village. A strange dance of questions, glances, and secrets from his side as well as mine. But I felt no lies. He bid me not to be afraid of him, but it would be a fool who does not fear the carrion bird who perches on their doorstep, murmuring shadows of the past.
