I haven't picked this journal up for months. How odd it feels in my hands...even more strange, to take up a quill and ink, and write in it once more. I wasn't even sure why I brought it with me. I thought perhaps I'd want to chronicle any adventures that occurred, I suppose. So many pages have been torn out... words blotted out... mistakes and regrets that I hate to think of.
But! Let us look forward, and not backward! We've spent several days here in Trestlebridge, and... I confess, I have mixed feelings about going home. Not because I don't love my new home and family - yes, I consider them my family now. They've embraced me, cared for me, given me a new future. And I miss them, it's true! I hesitate simply because... the past few days have been so strangely blissful. The town itself is quiet, picturesque, peaceful, even though we've heard a few whispers of orc activity nearby. The little inn where we've been staying is mostly empty, lending an air of coziness and tranquility, especially as the weather outside has taken a definite turn towards winter. And... there's the company I'm with. I hesitate to write his name... but why? What am I afraid of?
Ah, my own silly thoughts! My head is full of them! Perhaps going home will lend some clarity to all of this. And perhaps it is that moment, that bursting of this surreal, fantastical little bubble, that I both need and dread.
