Baradar came back today.

I had planned to leave as soon as I had been able to say goodbye to him, but something stopped me from doing so. He seemed so sad knowing that I was to go. We sat in the garden talking for a while. The way he looked at me was strange, as was the tone of his voice. He was so apprehensive, as if he feared what he knew was to come or what he thinks is to happen.

Zara sat on the cushioned bench, despondently gazing into the embers of the fire she had nearly let go out. There was a rattling at the door and Ruaidhri came in, stamping the autumn leaves from his boots. Zara looked up, startled. He looked at her, then at the dying fire. 'What lass, no dinner again? And it's almost as cold in here as it is out there!' Zara looked mortified. 'Oh Rua, I'm so sorry! I just lost track of the time!' The dwarf looked at her pale, drawn face. 'Aye, same as the last two weeks!

*writen in steady handwriting, of one who spent many nights writing letters, poems, scrolls...a gentle hand* 

Twelve had gathered as agreed, as fine a body of fighting men and women as you could wish for. As well as the leader, Thoronthor the Captain, there were Viosmos and Miosha, both renowned hunters; Belegorn, another leader of men; Lamonti and Forgar, one a well-known and respected bodyguard, the other yet to prove himself in battle. Met was there, a famous champion, standing with Eresmir, a veteran fighter. Two skilled minstrels, Ertana and Jeffrie, were entertaining the group while they waited for everyone to arrive and finally there was Crowfoot, a mysterious scholar.

I am trying to put this off as much as I can.