arrows

My dear Lady Yrill,

I understand you are planning to take an Arrow patrol west into the Lone Lands and that you may come near to the old fortress at Weathertop. One hears many things while convalescing, I apologise if I am being presumptive.

With a curved bow in his hand, he marched through the barren wasteland underneath the mask of darkness the land has given him. Soon, he shifted from being out in the open towards the cover of trees and rocks to hide him from sight. He waited, and his instincts were correct for soon, he had heard voices. Voices he recognized – one was croaky and crisp with age and weariness, whilst the other was simply aggressive and showing strength through even his voice.

Talgoy! Wake up... come on you lazy pup, wake up! —say an old voice as Talgoy started to open his eyes. When he see the face of an old and bearded man with a glass eye on his right he immediately yells, freaked out.

It has been many weeks since writing in this journal, my hand bleeds anew with every letter I scrawl. Bandages fail to contain my words as I write in this book. It has not been a good road to recovery, neither has it been for the sake of another at the expense of my health. I can only assume her vacant expression and cold disposition will curtail my passive aggressions until I can draw strength in my arm again.