7 Mirtul
Eddard is dead.
My big brother is dead.
It feels so strange to write that. Eddard was six years old when I was born. He used to swing me in the garden after our mother died and helped me learn to shoot a bow. Once he beat up Chal Verras for being rude to me. He was always being trained to be Duke Silvershield, and he would have been good at it too. I wish I had spent more time with him. He was always away at school or learning about Daddy's business, and it seemed as if we had nothing in common...but we did. He was my brother, and he didn't deserve to die.
One thing makes it even worse. He and his caravan were near the Coast Way--not far from where we passed as we headed for Beregost. If we had been more watchful, if we had taken a little longer on the journey, if... we might have saved him from those bandits. He nearly made it into Beregost. That seems more dreadful than falling in the deep wilderness.
Eddard is dead. We can't get him back. It's now vitally important that I get a message to my father.
I don't want to be an adventurer. I can't write any more.