I returned to Bree with a heavy heart, finding everything in my home exactly where I left it, with a thin layer of dust settled over my furniture. I found this little journal, tucked underneath a few maps and pieces of parchment on my table, saved from the dust that had blanketed the rest of my home. I've spent the last few days with the door and the windows thrown open while I cleaned everything, bringing out blankets and other things down to the water near the house to clean.
After a few days, the house is finally as sparkling clean as it was when I left, and all traces of dust bunnies have been rid from my house. I have to admit that the house feels emptier now, it's too still and quiet. I haven't settled in one spot for months, and I don't know what to do with myself. I've picked up a job for later in the week, I'll be taking a young couple from the West Gate to the bridge leading to the Trollshaws.
My mother used to tell me that I keep moving when I'm troubled, and I suppose that's still what I'm doing now.
