I cannot sleep yet again. What a suprise. Perhaps writing out my thoughts will allow me to sleep:
What is the meaning of blood and heritage? Ultimately, what does it mean? We all die. We all return to the earth and nourish her. And she nourishes us. We bleed the same red. So why does it matter how pure ones lineage is? What good does us when we are in the grave?
I received a letter from my parents informing me of some history I was unaware of. Apparently my mother is from Dunland. I am not a pure Eorling like I thought, and was rasied to be. I still consider myself as just that though. I was raised as a Man of the Mark and know only that.
I am curious however. The letter mentioned a Stag-clan. Stag... it is a name I am called and something I see in these strange visions of mine. Perhaps I will journey to meet my mothers people. What little I do know of them, they seem more connected to the wilderness and the lands that support them than the large stone cities of the Mark. Perhaps I may get along with them, or perhaps they will hate me for being only half, as the Eorlings hate halves.
We shall see. Curious days.