The long-awaited letter arrived tonight, from my old acquaintance, Éogar himself. He had inquired, some time ago, about several foals born nearby that he intended to purchase once they'd passed their first year. It seems he wishes to use one colt and filly for breeding, and another colt will be gelded and sent onward north, to a fellow who wishes it to be trained as a cart-horse.
Having worked with him before, though it has been quite a long time ago now, Éogar gave my name to this gentleman, and recommended that I train the colt, saying that he trusted no other to do the job properly. Flattering, of course, though I certainly had a notion to turn down the offer and let another step into that role. But the coin offered was a respectable amount, and beyond that, I wish to keep not only my good name, but Éogar's, as he helped me survive my early days in Bree-land.
The timing is not the most convenient, with cold weather about to set in, and Leoffrith still learning his way about the Hookworth stables. However, I shouldn't be gone more than a few weeks at most, and I have faith that I will be home before the first snow falls, and that Leoffrith can manage perfectly fine without me. Well, as long as he doesn't try to bite off more than he can chew! The training for our own horses can wait, and I trust that the mucking and feeding won't overwhelm him.
My tiredness continues, particularly in the evenings, though I did visit a physician this morning. He voiced a few concerns, told me to take it easy, and come back if things didn't improve. Taking it easy is not an option, though I'll do my best not to wear myself out. The journey may prove tiring, but training one colt should be nothing at all. I know my dear husband has been worrying over me, and it pains me to see the look in his eyes when he notices how lackluster I am. I pray this is no serious ailment or illness. Not that I worry so much for myself, but the thought of losing...
Alas, the hour grows late, and I can write no more. I must finish packing.
