Found:
Yet more ramblings.
I've spent all summer fixing up this house. It's been long and grueling, but worth it. Everything has come together now and, if recent rains are any indication, the roof is finally free of leaks. The damp is gone from the walls. The floorboards replaced are now sturdy and creak-free. One might almost believe it is safe here now - and so many others might - but stationary has never equated to safety in my mind.
When I haven't been hammering something or cleaning something else, I've been working on the scrolls and books I brought with me from my prior visit to the island. Most are simple, straight forward, languages I know with narratives I can transcribe with ease. It's that other one that continues to give me trouble - the one I liberated from Annuminas. Ciphers within ciphers, bastardised phrases and words, bits and pieces written backwards or in the wrong order entirely. It takes up far more of my time than it should and yet I find myself utterly immersed within those pages when I work upon it. The knowledge - if such it could be called - contained within that tome is, for the most part, arbitrary and unbelievable. Revised histories, nonsensical rites, the ramblings of those barely sane but viewed as... what? Prophets? Seers? Revered elders at the very least. Yet still I work because, in an odd way, I find it fascinating.
I've barely left the house through autumn. Only when I've had to in order to keep a promise to the scholars I made my deals with. Only to replenish my stocks or ensure that Steel is healthy and content. Otherwise, I sit at my desk, cramps within my fingers ignored, as I read and write and puzzle my way through one page after another.
The one thing I haven't quite been able to disregard is that ache in my back. The pain in my leg. Even with my morning exercises - which I have been forced to tone down for the time being - I find myself with a limp. Bedamnable throwback to an enforced fall. It seems like a lifetime ago now.
I wonder....
I've never lived in a house before. Not one such as this. Did I chop enough wood for the fire to last through the cold months? Uncertain, I have put off lighting the flames for as long as possible, relying on extra layers of clothing and blankets to keep me warm. I realise that it's not even winter yet, but the Bree-land chill lies heavy upon my desert-dweller heritage, freezing me to the bone whilst I see the locals continue to stride the world outside with only a slightly warmer jacket worn as a concession to the weather. How do they stand it?
I wonder...
Is it worth it? Staying here? True, I have friends in these lands. They anchor me here, convince me to stay without words. I've not seen any of them in many months, too wrapped up in my work to pay any visits. Likely they think me gone, disappearing as I do into the pre-dawn light with nary a goodbye. Or perhaps they have come to me and I have not heard the door knock.
Despite that, some part of me still yearns to be out on the road. I doubt that feeling will ever truly fade. Of course, quite a lot of my body aches right now, so extended rides and walks are not entirely sensible.
Maybe next year I'll sell this place. Maybe next year I'll move on again. To more temperate pastures, perhaps. To places I've not seen before. To places more kindly to injuries of old.
Maybe. We'll see.
