It has been six human years and eigthy-two days that I have left Lothlorien, two seasons from the day our training camp has been ambushed by Dourhand dwarves.
My travels through the lands has taken me from the town of Bree to Ost Guruth. This place, this "Lone-Lands" is making my heart tremble since the very moment I set foot on it's soil. It feels sad, filled with grief and anger; it did not take time for me to learn why. Most of the folk are extremely cautious with the travellers passing by, such as my own self, which makes me think that they have been hurt much. But many of them has asked for my help on the matter troubling their minds as soon as they notice my daggers and my bow. Despite the fact that the place discomforts my soul even more, it was good to see that I was able to be some help for the ones who needed it.
I must not forget to send a letter to Lorien, to my family for informing them where I am now. I feel their anxious thoughts, a hand-written word from myself might give ease to their hearts.
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