[The hand that writes today is not as upright and elegant as it usually is. It is tired, a bit wobbly.]
Entry the fifth.
While I was smoking — or at least feigning a smoke — with friends at the Prancing Pony, a Woman arrived with an arrow-wound, apparently received during an encounter with a thug on the Bree-lands' roads. As there were a number of experienced healers present, I was needed only as an assistant, though I would like to flatter myself and say I was of a little bit of use.
The arrow had already been pulled, and by the skilled hand of an Elf. I have ever heard that attempting to pull arrows on the battlefield is the height of foolishness, but in this case it was done with such miraculous neatness that as little harm as could be hoped was done. We found no evidence of broken-off pieces or truly fell poisons such as the orcs wield in the wound, so pressure was applied to help the bleeding abate, after which the wound was anointed with healer's honey, packed, and bandaged. The healer I assisted warned our patient to be mindful of heat and swelling at the wound, the first signs of corruption, and to change the dressing every day.
Though I am not acquainted with the patient personally, I am connected to her by two links, she being the hireling of a companion of my very important friend. I hope this shall allow me to follow up with her and do what I can to avert permanent impairment.
The subsequent night the Pony's floors were again dripped with blood, though this from a more typical sort of wound, a Woman having imbibed too much and passed out, hitting her head on the bar on the way down. Though there was a great deal of bleeding, as there usually is with a head-wound, the cut proved superficial, and there was no sign of injury to the brain. I suggested an adhesive to seal the skin together, but the more experienced healer opted simply to apply pressure and then bandage. The patient was left under the supervision of an honorable Man who was instructed to keep her cheerful with conversation and to seek help right away if she suddenly lost consciousness.
[Rather than an elegant filigree, there are a few specks from nervous taps of the quill, not at all typical of this writer.]
I am sorry about the trouble with Miss Rue. It was my mistake, and though I had no intention to deceive, the trouble to you and disappointment to them is the same regardless, and so I will endeavor to be more guarded in my speech henceforth. You need worry none about my head, as it was but a tap; my concern was more for the tea-cup, which I am glad I did not break on my rock of a brain!
Deliveries from the grocer will begin tomorrow. Most will be prepared in advance by the merchants for pickup, so if you wish to revise the order for a week, the sooner you can put in the request the better. A Hobbit acquaintance of my brother will help me in selecting produce, so I hope it is to Mistress Dumpling's specifications. Pray let me know of any complaints right away.
