It was worse than we could have imagined. Some force of Undead descended on Ost Guruth while the Orcs blocked the road - scattering its people, the Eglain, across the plains. Refugees were already turning up outside the Forsaken Inn with early reports of the catastrophe.
Morfryn was ready to rush straight back into battle even after our ordeal at Naerost, but Fion would have none of it. The three of us were sent back to Hamglen to recover, rest and obtain new gear. I saw Lheuwen riding off to scout just as we were leaving.
Well, we have been trying to rest and recover. Morfryn never seemed much the worse for wear, and Blodflaed seems much better. But, for myself...
I kept trying to talk myself into going back. I packed, I prepared, I bought a new bow - though I greatly miss my old one, taken by the Orcs, which I had had since I was fifteen. I kept thinking I didn't need to be ready yet, I would be fine by the time the day came.
Though, when it finally did... I couldn't work out how to tell them I couldn't go back with them. I can barely explain it to myself. I wasn't even injured. But I was almost fainting with panic at the thought of going back there after what we saw. Even just writing about it causes my heart to race.
Yet still I feel wracked with guilt for dropping out at the last moment. I left a note with the innkeeper at the Thirsty Boar, Bil - I hope it is enough. I couldn't face them with this. I can just imagine Blodflaed's disappointment, Morfryn's concern... I had to get away. I write this in an old oak glade near Bree, half a dozen leagues northwest of Hamglen - it is not on their way.
I will do what I can to help from here. I am sure they will be needing some extra supplies - I can get to work on that. It is, after all, what I am good at.
Maybe at some point I will go back with one of the wagons - try to explain...
But not yet.
I think Fion was wrong. I don't believe I am cut out for the adventuring life after all.