It is here that I will record what thoughts I may, in whatever weeks, months, or perhaps years are left to me.
My hand is hesitant. Do I have the time, the inclination, or the strength to set down any of the stories of my life?
I have decided to remain where I am, and not weary my body with the travails of journeying bare, uncertain roads in winter. Though I do not feel I can stay within the town itself any longer. It may be too late to discover a new life for myself, but the ending of whatever remains shall be set apart from what used to be.
I have found a small house whose price was reasonable, in a village far enough from Bree that my reputation will not follow me nor shadow my steps. I thought that I might take up the role of an herbalist for the local folk, since that is where my knowledge resides. I do not need much coin, for I have saved frugally all my life, and I should be comfortable till whatever end. But it would give me something to occupy my time and my hands, and all I have ever desired was to be useful and helpful to others.
Of course, much care must be taken to guard my words. If I hope to diminish in peace, I must remain, as ever, alone and unattached.
