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.
2 Mede
Home, Bree-land.
√ Bring books to current, adding in all the new stock.
→ Start list for blacksmith, a few smaller hand tools look warped and can use nother can of nails.
≡ Things are real good, real good right now. Business, weather and all that. But most importantly, my overnight house guest happened to decide to turn her stay into an extended one for she lounged round inside my home all day and into the next morn keeping me company. Were awful hard to stay focused on what needed doing out in the yard knowing she were inside waiting on me, but I did the most necessary of tasks leastways so’s I can rest easy on that note.
Now she were a mindful guest mostly. Didn’t cook none on account of her claiming not to have any know-how of mixing food, herbs and flames properly, but she made up the bed and picked up what got knocked over and didn’t leave no mess of her own.
Only complaint I got against her were that she snooped round in my dresser drawers and found my gentlemanly stash. Good gravy, walked in the house all sweaty from smoking the hives and she come out waving round everything. Everything. The one with the girl and a vegetable. The busty one I had drawn pointy ears on. All of that. And she made a show of her musement too, pointing and laughing at certain bits. Were nearly ready to bolt out the front door again and leave her to herself hooting over the things what kept me going during my long dry spell, but yours truly deserves some accolades for standing there regardless. So when she were done having her fun at my expense, I stuffed it all under the mattress and said it belonged to my house-sitter who left it there to prank me. Guess Miss Kitowyn’s now the proud owner of all this bawdiness next time she comes round.
But aside from that poor show I do think we get on well nough together so far, Miss Bryndis and I. Hard working gal she is; bit gruff, no elegance to her at all. Not like Mrs Ind- nah, nah, we’ll not go there. But common folk’s what she is and that’s what I am, so’s we get each other. She finally left to tend her shoppe early this morn telling me to come up and visit her sometime, and I will in a few days after some needed rest.
Got no fancy designs on her. Just riding this out to wherever it goes cause being lonely’s less fun.
