Dunland

As neither of us were in a hurry our speed of travel was quite tardy. As ever since we met, few words were exchanged between Snorru and I, though a few passing comments about the local flora and fauna we did make as his love of nature seemed to match mine. Yet the waggon rolled on without merry thoughts as recent events held nothing to be merry about. Snorru's wife lay dead, her body nestled among the sacks of grain behind us and my sullen companion had lost everything else as well, save his merchandise and his home in Galtrev towards which we were now bound.

Now Snorru was a silent, brooding type, as whoever had lost everything in a blink of an eye might surely be. But I reckon he was like that beforehand too and was never one to speak without a reason, nor did he seem to show much emotion save for that fleeting moment by the body of his dead wife in that cave in the Gravenwood. After that tragic incident we had formed a curious yet mistrustful bond, for because of the long enmity between our people neither of us could fully be at ease near each other.

While we rode on more warily after being waylaid by the Orc grunts that night by the border of Gravenwood, we kept pressing on as our hearts still burned for adventure. Perhaps even more so now that we had tasted its sweet taste and the rush. 'Twas not quite the same as patrolling the Mark with fellow Riders, battling whatever danger had passed the borders into fair Rohan and engaging them in petty skirmishes. Nay, there was a sense of excitement differing from it now that we were alone and a long way from home, me and Sigefaest.

Once again I find myself quill in hand. Since last I wrote I've found a peaceful area in Bree-land to call home away from home, though that is a story in itself. More than likely no other shall gaze upon these pages, but still I wish to pen my recollections. For myself and later years. Perhaps for some offspring of mine to read, should I yet be blessed with some.

Ever since I was a wee lad I've done my best to sift through all the books and dusty tomes I came upon anywhere in the Mark but never did I think of writing a simple diary, such that I've now opened and staring at its blank first page. It is because of... well, loneliness, or mayhap a need to document my travels and dare I say, adventures, in these far-away lands, that I now grasp the quill.