June 17, 1401 S.R.
Somewhere near Weathertop
My thoughts are all jumbled up, and I think they'd sort themselves out better in a letter than in a normal entry. So I'm going to write one.
Dear Frodo,
You are my best friend and my master, and I want you to know that I trust your judgment. I know you trust Strider and believe me Mr. Frodo, I'm trying to. Really, truly, I am. But I just can't. Frankly, I don't know how you can expect me to. Nobody knows his past. He knows too much you, me, Merry, Pippin, and your Ring. He's extremely good at disappearing and reappearing at unexpected times. And to top it all off, Mr. Frodo, he disappeared right after those foul Black Rider things stabbed you. Merry and Pippin are on the lookout for him, but I really don't expect him to return. Don't worry, Frodo. I'll take care of you the best I know how if he doesn't. And I'll keep trying to trust him if he does.
yours faithfully,
Sam
Well. I don't know if I made any more sense in a letter after all, but it doesn't really matter. It wasn't pointless. Mr. Frodo will read it at the end of this journey, whenever that will be. (See, he caught me writing a few weeks ago and asked me what I was doing. I told him and he asked if he could read it. I said he could as soon as he was sitting in a cozy armchair in front of a roaring fire.)
June 19, 1401 S.R.
Resting. Thank goodness.
Well. Strider came back after all. He came back almost as soon as Mr. Frodo came to, and he had some herbs for his shoulder. I didn't want him to touch Frodo at first, but he seemed to know what he was doing when he prepared the herbs, so I decided it was safe. I asked him what the Black Riders had done to Frodo, since the only thing I could see was a white mark on his shoulder but Strider seemed unusually worried. He said that Riders had given him a wound that would bend him to their will. I've been hoping desperately that he was wrong, but Frodo's been doing very poorly and I'm starting to believe there's something seriously wrong with him. His eyes are all glassy, he can't focus, and he squints at us whenever we try to talk to him. Strider said he's loosing his sight, which is the first stage. He's also been shivering and shaking at night, and he can't use his stabbed arm.
Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What would the Gaffer do?
