June? Already?
The impending arrival of summer, in all its blinding brightness and mellow, hazy warmth, awakens something within me. The restlessness I have felt over the past month only grows. I feel beckoned towards something, called outward and forward, but to what end? What is it that exhorts me, and to where? I do not know. And the not knowing is frustrating.
I know my path must go south, and likely soon. I do not think I will pass a second winter away from the Riddermark. But something stands between today, and that destination. Something demands my attention. A maddeningly unknown something.
Ryheric went south with the Breeish woman many weeks ago now. I would like to think that, if ill befell him, I would sense it somehow. Are we so close, that I should feel such a thing? Perhaps not. Perhaps that is a girlish, naive fancy of my imagination. The drawn-out days that we spent together without pause in the wild, southern hills are long ago now.
Yet was it not I who asked for time and space? An ill-defined thing. "Come back in a month", I should have said, maybe. The vexations of my own mind and heart. I needed an open-ended escape, thus I have no right to feel anxious that I have not seen him yet. I only pray, as I always do, that he is whole and well and safe. Happiness I wish for him, though I do not necessarily expect it. He walks a broken, jagged path in this world.
At times, when I look at him, I see a boy. Behind the tall, strong frame, the endless scars and ruined flesh, the night terrors, the countless losses, the blood that may be washed from skin, but never from memory. Behind all of that, there are flashes of youth, impetuous and sweet, endearingly yearning for all the things a young man wants. Laughter, passion, wanton risks, song and dance, the thrills of a swiftly thrumming heart. I see this boy-Ryheric peeking through the hard, fearless, scarred veil of all that he has endured, asking so softly, so innocently, to be seen. And my heart breaks.
Do they know, how much he gives?
How can anyone ask
I must speak with Cesistya. I have lingered in my own solitude too long. Even among the townsfolk, I move and live like a ghost. It is of my own doing, my own choice. I think part of me wishes to find another anchor here in Bree. Something to capture my heart and hold it here, in this quaint, quiet little village. Is this another naive dream of my making? It likely is. Nonetheless, I must stop this inward alienation and go see my dear friend. She deserves better of me.
I was invited to travel south with a man who masquerades under a name not his own. He has been kind to me, and gives an air of dignity and respect that I like. Such folk put my own, overly cautious mind at ease. He is going to Cardolan, in fact, before traveling further. I am hesitant to return to the land I was so recently in, and which holds some grievous, fresh memories for me. But then, will hiding from them be anymore fruitful? If I go and face them head-on, would that bring healing? It may be worth finding out. I do not believe this man carries any risk of impropriety, though I am well aware of the appearance of a woman traveling alone in a man's company. Perhaps this will be the needed step to bring me onto the road that eventually leads back to Rohan.
Rohan. Where this all began. One year, almost.
