cesistya

*The text is written poorly with many spelling errors*

Dear journal

I must have been a child still when I last wrote in you but with all that has happened I have to let my thoughts out somewhere even if I feel a bit sick.

The Family of my Mother - The First Smile of Ramyanen

The stars were above him, and reaching spires of grass encircled his vision. The air was warm and comforting, and it smelled sweet and young. Already he could hear the sounds of others, to whom speech was still new, yet freely they let their voices fly. Soon the glade would be filled with a music that none had heard until it reached their ears, and many were glad, for they knew that it was good. Yet, he smiled not.

The Family of my Mother - Awakening of N'im Tallimbi

Yesterday was largely pleasant, though a few moments were as ugly and harsh as anything I’ve ever known. Strangely, I don’t feel the same insecurity, the same regret, as I have on previous occasions. Could it be that I’m finally coming into my own identity, as Fate rakes me over the coals more and more? Am I finally finding my own voice? Losing my fear of offending others?

I know this isn't in my best interest to write any of these thoughts out, and I'm very certain it will backfire horrendously, though.. for my own sake and possibly those around me, I guess I will.  

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. 

  In the following nights after Aallan proposed his plan to rob a giant in the Brandy Hills to Dufr, he drew up a map of the far western areas of Bree-Land using a quill pen, a sheet of parchment, and an inkwell.  All three of which he certainly did not steal from a drunkard or a crook of a book-keeper...  On and off, he would illustrate the areas and where the giant could possibly be, as well as mention his 'little' venture with the fair Brynleigh.  Upon hearing of this trip to the giant's hut, she had worried in her heart if Aallan had gone mad.

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.

The following is a medium-sized scroll newly placed upon the Shelves of the Scholar's Stair. The Author you may not have heard of as anyone staying in Bree-town at this time, though the name is clearly Elvish. The hand-writing is neat with a quill-pen on parchment.

On Magic
~ And ~
How It may be Understood