Gungur's words keep rattling about in my head. Spring is caravan time after all. Snow's melted, the earth is warming up, people are going to be traveling here and there until the next frost. Wouldn't it make sense to hop aboard one and see a bit of the world without having to worry about the dangers of going on my own? Could go as a guard, I suppose, though I've never thought of myself as anything like that. Might do me good to meet some new faces and get away from Bree and all the thoughts and feelings that come with being here. I love and hate this place at the same time.
I've made my peace with Rowan after all. He still seems like he's a lost specter sometimes. Like he's waiting for the gods to show him what to do with himself and his life. I don't quite understand it at all. He's a towering, strong, capable man, and likely the most beautiful one I've ever laid eyes on. He could find any wife he wanted, anywhere in the world. Why does he insist on working simple jobs around this two-pony village? I suppose that one's outer beauty doesn't erase their inner demons, though. And even though he seems quiet and serene now, I don't think he's happy. In fact, I know he's not. I wonder what would ever make him happy. A family, maybe. But he's not any closer to getting that if he doesn't let people get closer to him. He's going back to the lake for the summer, he says, so I doubt I'll see him again. I wanted to tell him I loved him before we said goodbye. I intended to. I could feel it in my throat, wanting to come out. But I didn't say it. Maybe I was worried it would sound like a plea for his affection, which I've long accepted I'll never have. Maybe I just tire of the one-sided expression of feelings. I know he cares, and I hope he knows I care. And that's enough for now.
Part of me has every intention of taking up hunting again, and part of me screams for something different. I'm so restless now that I'm not ill anymore, I feel like I'm crawling inside my own skin. I long for the familiar comforts of sitting in the Chetwood in midsummer, listening to the birds and the frogs by the water's edge, sitting with my back against my tree, enjoying the way the warm, smooth bark cradles my spine. Would it be safe enough just to do that? Just to go back to the forest? I passed Mister Whitethorn in the street a few days ago, and he didn't recognize me out of my hunting clothes and with my hair down, but I called out to him. And then he was asking when I was going to start bringing him some fresh hides, and I didn't have an answer to give him. (I put my hair back up since then, I couldn't stand feeling it all over my neck!)
This intolerable feeling of not knowing what to do wasn't made any easier after meeting this fellow in the Prancing Pony last night. Holt was his name. He walked up to me out of nowhere and sat himself down and seemed one of those overly jovial, flattering sorts at first. And when he asked if we could move to one of the rooms in the back, I thought I had him pegged as just another boor who'd be trying to grope me up before the night's end. But while flirty men may annoy me, they don't scare me, and on the off chance that I was wrong and painting him too quickly, I said all right. There was a moment where I thought for sure I was right, as he reached his hands out towards me and I thought he might try to kiss me or some such. But he didn't, and he said he only wanted a better look at me. I thought it was all pretty damn odd for a while, he was laying on such compliments, and damn if I know why anyone compliments a freckled, rumpled little thing like me, but it's rude to outright contradict them, so I try not to. I probably fail at it a lot. Anyway, the more we talked, the nicer it felt, and after a while I stopped worrying that he might be a handsy cad just hoping to get me full of ale and into a bedroom. I didn't realize it till just now, but we sat there all evening, didn't we? I guess not noticing the time passing is a sign that I enjoyed his company. My mind changed from the start of the night to the end of it, and now I think him a sweet and rather silly man, but he was humble, and I like humble folk. He didn't seem to care that I wasn't prim and pressed, and I didn't care that he was a bit grubby and unwashed himself. But I'm babbling on about everything but what I meant to say, as usual. I told him a little of my situation and he was very enthusiastic in encouraging me to go out and grab life by the horns and seize every day and all those uplifting things people like to say. And that got me thinking that I really do need to settle on what my heart and soul want to do, and I need to it soon. Spring's already coming on and summer won't be far behind, so whatever I'm going to do, I need to figure it out quick.
