| Subject: A new journal..left behind. |
Author:
Cricket
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Date Posted: 13:31:06 02/04/07 Sun
((Cricket had begun a new journal back in May of 2006. This journal would be left behind, in Ciros old hideaway, safe from prying eyes, but out of Cricket hands once she crossed the sea. She would begin another journal there, repeating what was written already. But twice would she write, and both posts are copied here, from the old MB.))
5-26-06 - A new journal
My old journal was lost in the fire at Rum Hill. At times I am glad, for all that it held, but I felt the need for the old habit of scrawling down my thoughts, whether they make much sense or not.
I start here, my new journal, in the Spring of what I believe is my 45th year in this world. I am feeling every one of them.
Where am I now in relation to where I was before? I am much at a loss to say. Trevor has come for his son. He has taken him I know not where, and I doubt I will ever see either of them again. Rum Hill burned to the ground when Hell sought to stop The Traveler from his mission. What that mission is, I am sad to say, I do not know. I know some of it, for the part I was privy to, but I was told very little. That still stings sharply. I took him as my Husband, and he took me as his Wife. I bear no ring, there was no witness, and I found out at the end, that even the promise between us was not what I thought it was. I was but a stone on his road and easily stepped upon and over.
Yet I sound complaining, and I do not wish to be. My life was given up, and then given back to me. R'Auco proved himself a true friend, and I was wisened to things I had been blind to.
Hell had sent its Balors, and the Horseman defeated all of them. I merely had to stay out of the line of fire, but I heard things of truth from the vile lips of hells born. The Horseman was not simply that. He was born cursed, and would die cursed, as would all of his line.
I thought I knew then, what I had to do...something that I had known since my son was born. I never could bring myself to do it..and I do not believe even with that my intent, I could have carried it out. By the time I had reached the school, I had no more heart for it at all. The Traveler must have felt differently, or feared I would not be swayed, for when I arrived there, he was gone and so was my son. There are no words to express the grief in my heart.
I do not feel compelled to do anything. I travel when I feel restless, but there seems no purpose to anything.
I keep coming back to Rhy'Din, although things are so different here now, it seems a strange place. I sleep only in Ciros old hideaway, and I continue to have my evening meal at the Dockside as I did so often when Ciro was alive.
Today I have come back to the Roost, and it is here, by Indigos grave, that I write now. It is warm with the sun on my back, I can hear the water and the wind, and I have cleared the weeds from the mound where Indigo is buried and laid a clutch of lilac blooms upon it.
I found it easy to talk to her today..to tell her everything, and I feel as though she is listening, and is as forgiving as she ever was. It sounds strange, I know, but she is a comfort to me on this warm day which wells in me such regret that I cannot breathe.
I cannot bear the inside of the Roost. It harbors too many memories and memories are the one thing I cannot think too long about. They rushed in on me as soon as I opened the doors, and I was forced to shut them again. Tis alright though. I do not need to go inside.
My recent travels have taken me through Aldonia and through the woods to the east. Travel seems such an effort these days though, I was drawn back here, where rest was once known. I suppose soon, I might travel again, in search of lands where war ravages. I think that if I do that, I might eventually catch sight of my Son again.
I think that would be enough. Just to see him.
I have heard nothing of the Den, or what might go on there now. I have not inquired either. I am certain Creighton would want my head should he still live, and Damian must be as furious..yet not even that has the power to influence me. I simply do not care, and I doubt very much anyone else does either.
~C~
5-29-06 - WestWind
Traveling again, I have ridden past the remains of Rum Hill. The locals are still very spooked, and my presence was held under the cover of night. Without twenty men and thirty shovels, I shall never see most of what survived the fire at all. Perhaps someday, I will return to dig up a few artifacts. I sold Camera del Grillo yet again, this time for a paltry fee, and yet two marks together made it worth the while. One breathes only dirt now, and the other I believe too stupid to find his way in the front door. At least I've enough to travel on comfortably, and my new horse seems a companionable sort.
WestWind is my next stop, perhaps to see a few old salty faces, though I would prefer to keep mine under shadow.
~C~
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