Journal Entry One

I'm sitting next to Herdo while writing this. Clearly he's dead, got an arrow in his throat. He was a fine steed, and I wish I had time to bury him. Alot of other dead horses too, a few on top of their riders, but a few of the corpses are still visible. Lots of Dunlending. Lots of them, all over the place. I wish that meant we'd won, but it doesn't. If we had, I wouldn't be sitting here, and all these corpses would be in a mound. I guess I was knocked out. My helmet's dented, so I must've fallen from Herdo, been knocked out and been left. Must've thought I'd died. I figure if I write this, when they find my lyeing, dead, either of starvation or something worse, they won't think I'm a deserter. There's a valley, a little West of here, I think. I'll finish this and make for there, see if I can find some help.