Found:
It's been a while since I last wrote in this book. I've been too busy, too distracted, but now...
Since arriving in Evendim all those months ago, I've kept myself occupied. The house had to be cleaned, stocked, the grounds tended to. The backlog of items, books, and scrolls needed to be cataloged. It's tidy now, beautiful. Peaceful. I love it here. I love to watch the sunrise over the lake. I love to listen to the bird's sing. I love the way the water sparkles, the reflections from the sky, how perfectly it mirrors the world and then, just as one might come to believe that there is no water, that the heavens are both above and below, suddenly a fish will catch the surface with its tail, the ripple shattering the illusion. I love the solitude. I love the infrequent visitors come to see my collection, to barter, to sell, to buy, to add.
I miss Bree sometimes. The people there, the option of a half-decent drink. Wine is in short supply here, and that which can be bought is of subpar quality. Even a good mulling fails to make it truly palatable. Still, I have people here... of a sort. They're not friends. I know better than to call my own kind "friends." Treasure Hunter types, on the whole, are a backstabbing and soulless bunch. But they understand me in ways that "normal" people don't, simply because they have lived this life as well. They know.
But as much as I try to stay in the moment, as much as I work for the future, the past still calls.
He calls.
It's not every night. It's not even every other night, but it's enough of them.
I close my eyes, snuggled down under the thick eider upon my bed. I slow my breathing. I drift away into another silent, solitary sleep and then...
"Find me," he says. "Come to me."
"Where are you?" I ask.
"Find me," is his only response, if he gives one at all. And then he is gone.
Find him? But how? It has been months since last I saw him, longer still since we could be considered anything but passing acquaintances.
Find him? But why? He can handle himself. He doesn't need my help, he never did.
I have no skill for tracking people. I know where I saw him last, but any trace would now be long gone. Even were that not so, even were he an easy man to stumble across, what would be the point? He wouldn't want me to look for him. He wouldn't want me to find him. An exercise in futility culminating in him turning me away, no doubt.
I have never been superstitious. In my erstwhile line of work, superstition is dangerous. Cynicism keeps one alive. That is a lesson I learned a long time ago, and one I hold dearly even now. So, I do not believe that it is really him. It's not his spirit come to speak to me, acting so far out of character that he would ask for my help or my presence. The real him would do neither thing, so dream him can bugger off!
Nevertheless, it haunts me.
Perhaps I should go through the pantry, make sure that everything within is still in a good state.
