Penned in precise and evenly lined sentences, a blank page near the middle of a slightly scuffed, top-grain leather journal is newly inscribed. If one were to flip past the filled pages to the very beginning, one would find the first page titled with: Bernie Tweed, Bree-land followed by a series of odd symbols.
20 Thrimidge
Southern Bree-fields, Bree-land
≡ Woke up on a bench in the Pony’s main hall and were lucky that I had no head aching whatsoever. Bully for Butterburr, guess the beer weren’t watered down like usual. Rough crowd what fills the place in the morn these days. Some dubious folk bandying fightin words back and forth, and some clod thought it were a good idea to bring their chitlins inside to watch all the tomfoolery. They say the world’s gone daft and seeing this with my own crusty eyes, I do believe there’s something to it. Headed out the door right quick.
And perfect timing too, for Mrs Indoril were coming round to the front steps just as yours truly set foot outside, carrying a bottle of brownish bubbly gunk and a wad of clean dressings. Said that one of the dolls I hit with rocks from up top turned out to be a healer what sold her the goods to clean up my bog-wounds. Pa always said I had good aim.
Now my side weren’t itching overly much and sometimes it were better to let pokes air out and dry, so I turned down Mrs Indoril’s treatments all the same. Might not have if she had taken a shining to me and were unhitched, but best not make things more awkward than they had been. She were not pleased at all with me. Not at all. Turned real dour and sent me looks icy enough to freeze my danglies off. Think she needed a good hot mug of morning coffee. I know I did.
Were sourpussing on the walk out the west gate of town and I couldn’t have her shooting me daggers the whole rest of the way, so I finally stood still and asked her if I could pose a personal question. She agreed to it and then I asked her why her husband didn’t come along on her far-travelling. She called me unobservant and then told me he were deceased.
Now if that weren’t a damper on things, I can’t think of what would be. Have to say conversation didn’t get much better for a while after and I nearly regretted asking. With naught but widowhood and no chitlins of her own back home to keep her busy, no wonder she travelled.
Made our way to the next place on her site-seeing list, which were ‘Sweetgrass Farms’ and I hadn’t been out to it in an age for I rarely get to the far side of Bree these days. Believe you me, place has really gone to pot. Sad to see the fields gone wild and the fencing down, but such things happen lately even in these parts. Mrs Indoril set to work with performing her missiony work again and I walked about looking at the weeds and wayward wheatstalks.
Few paces out, I seen some stalks rustling in a way that weren’t the wind blowing them. Bent in, moved the weeds aside and took a gander in the mishmash… only to see two wee gleaming eyes alooking right back up into mine. Well I’ll be, there were a critter babe in there and a teeny one at that. Began mewling softly for its mama, which I didn’t see round nowhere. Coaxed the little beastie out into the sun just as Mrs Indoril finished up her mission-work, and scooped it up for a looking-at. Seemed healthy but hungry, so handed the nipper to the elfin lady and fished out some fatback for it to chew on.
Seems I now have a kitten to tend. Mrs Indoril named it Rawion which means something in her lingo but I forget what now. Elfin words are terrible for someone with a fat clumsy tongue to roll over. But it sure lightened her mood carrying that wee beastie in her arms and so I were grateful I got to see her pretty smile finally. Wish I had got to see it more.
Anyway, we walked on over to the very last item on her treasure list with no problems at all, carrying the new tagalong and enjoying some of the last rays of warm sunlight. Found the ‘Southern Bree-fields’ easy enough and she saw what she needed in some old bear caves there. Took the kit and Mrs Indoril went on in to do her business whilst I entertained the little critter.
Were getting dark so we decided to bed down there in the cave for the night. Watched the stars, ate some trail foods. Yammered a bit on things, adding in the thanks-yous, the sorry-for-this, the hope-you-have-a nice-life thats as we did. All the idle things you say when you know there’s not much left to be said no more cause you’ll never meet again.
Said she’d see me back to town or maybe even my home, on account of needing to resupply herself for her home-trekking. Half expect her to be gone by sunrise though; she never took to me in truth and more’s the shame of that. But I’m not sorry in the least for going. Gave me something real nice to think on for a time.
Hope Miss Kitowyn hasn’t killed my bees.
