Kando 17, 173

The Valley at last! At last! I am filled with joy and relief and bliss. The journey across the plains is finally over, and I never want to go back. Now at last I feel I've been making progress. I'm almost there. It was the most difficult journey, but it's nearly over. When the plains grew greener and hillier I knew I was getting close, but it still came as a shock when the ground dropped beneath me and the entire Valley opened up before me. Hills rise on its sides, and deciduous trees flock across it, giving way now and again to patches of meadow. I've seen the mountains on the horizon for days now, but they suddenly seem so close.

As I descend the Valley, the very air grows different. It's sweeter, somehow, fresher and more alive than the scent of the wild winds that roam the plains eternally. Now I'm making my way down a narrow path, and looking for some way to find the orchards.

Kando 14, 173

I'm still sick of traveling. And journaling. And fauns.

Kando 12, 173

I'm sick of traveling. Plains, plains, plains. They never end. Sometimes they're broken by a tree-covered hill, but those are far and few. I thought that I'd feel so free with the whole sky in view. I could see sunrise and sunset. I could see birds miles and miles away. Instead I feel trapped. The sky is a cage, solid and smooth. The plains never end, and nothing but plains exist.

I'm talking like a fool. But that's how I feel.

I'm tired of sleeping on the ground. I'm sick of rain, sick of always watching for danger. I'm never safe. My muscles are strained and tense. I'm lonely. I never expected this loneliness.

I tell myself I'm fine. I thought I would be. But why do I wake up more weary every morning, never refreshed? Why do I sometimes cry myself to sleep at night?
I'm stronger than this. I can handle pain. I can't turn back. I'm too stubborn for that.

There's nothing for me back there. Well, besides sleeping in a real bed, the same bed every night. And having hot breakfasts and dinners. And having access to a real market, and my own vegetable patch, and having a job. And being able to hunt in woods familiar to me. And being around people who've grown up in the same culture, who I can relate to. Andک

.            .            .

What have I been writing?
A scappdrag tried to steal my haversack while I was writing. After I killed it I came to my senses. Enough self-pity. I really can't go back. I'll just get restless and set out again. Moving on.

Kando 7, 173

Well, they warned me about the dangers of traveling.

Yesterday I woke up with elf-locks in my hair. Some mischievous sprite had wandered too far north with too much time on his hands. I still haven't gotten them all out. So much for the elvish blood in my veins. How do they make tangles so well, the destructive little snippets?

Last night I lodged with another faun. This one lived alone with his wife and little girl. I felt an air of distrust around this house, unlike the first with the lovely faun family. A soft noise woke me in the middle of the night, and I saw the mistress faun with a candle, kneeling beside my bed and digging through my bag. Her husband was in the doorway, holding most of my silver.

"Oy!" I cried, and whacked the fauness with my staff. She yelped in pain, and her husband scurried away down the hall. Grabbing my haversack away from her, I charged after him. His plan - which was mainly run for your life and hide in a room somewhere - didn't make much sense. He slammed a door behind him and held it shut, and I tried to break it down. This failing, I threatened to burn the house down if he didn't come out. It worked.

I'm sick of staying with fauns.