Aranglin

            Dryn watched from the harbor as his companions had boarded the ships. It was bittersweet to him. He knew that it was for the best. However, it was still bittersweet because he had to say goodbye. It had reminded him of saying goodbye to Ghost, knowing that it was the last time the man would ever see him.

            Dryn and Aranglin had arrived where Morohir had lived, Fenris still by Dryn’s side. To their surprise, several elves had been getting boxes ready in a carriage. They walked to where they have seen Morohir along with Feridae. They both had a slightly saddened expression on their faces.

            Dryn was not expecting the way things had happened during recent days. He had been lucky to have seen Aranglin despite his head injury. He had told Dryn that it was due to a skinchanger but to Dryn’s knowledge, people like them hardly came to Bree. He had gone to have some fellowship with him and the woman named Asterthryth who had been the one who had treated him afterward.

How did I even manage to sleep last night? I must have been exhausted with happiness... is there such a thing? 

I have not stopped smiling since I opened my eyes this morning. The day appears rather dreary and drizzly from where I sit, but I can't find it in myself to mind. I feel as though the sun has found its way into my breast and is filling me with light - warm and golden and gentle. 

Yesterday was a blessedly quiet day, at least for the most part. I don't plan on a lengthy recording here today, but we shall see. My thoughts of late seem to be endless and I have trouble reigning them in once I put the quill to the parchment. 

It's a good thing that Jack awoke me before dawn this morning, though I was irritated at first with his incessant stomping and snorting outside the door. The fair weather has him restless and wanting to move about, and though I snapped at him to take his gargantuan black and white hide away from the house, I have to feel rather grateful now, as I have much to record here before I start my day's work. 

Oh, where to begin? I think I must've encountered half of Bree last night, in the space of just a few hours. 

Why did I finish my last entry with the words "what may come"? I spoke in haste, it seems, for yesterday was another whirlpool of madness, both terrible and lovely. Will life ever just calm down for a day or a week or a month? Bree seems to be some sort of hub for insanity of all kinds...as if it draws folk of passion, both wicked and good, from all corners of Middle Earth, concentrating them into the hedged walls of this little town and tumbling them together.