Greetings Friends,
I am terribly sorry for ending my last entry on such a note. An unfinished one at that. Yet, you know, for once I felt as though there was nothing I could say. No words that could ever paint a picture for you, dear reader, that would show what we all felt, how utterly terrified and helpless we felt. Handol's terror has become our own, though for us there is no hope. Handol always bore the hope that he would reach safety. It was that which made him soldier on, kept his legs from falling beneath him. Prevented him from collapsing in a sobbing mess.
For us? What was there for us to hope for? I know, for myself, it was the knowledge that many wouldn't survive if we had given up then and there but for the others I cannot speak of… Each seem to be taking it differently. Fréa has spoken barely one word since, he walks as though he is in a daze but the glances he gives the others unnerves me. Simple, pleasant Fréa? One would not deem such was possible from him but it is there; and it is only I who seems to notice it. Perhaps because the others are lost in their own thoughts.
The ladies of our small group seem affected the most and they rarely leave each other's side. Even the animosity between Kleo and Imrain seems dulled of late; as though the knife each bore for the other was blunted by some unseen force. Perhaps it is Our Lady's influence that makes them behave so for certainly all three seem to draw a comfort from each other, as though they each have a common interest of a sudden.
The Captain and Undew do not rest. I fear there is little either could do should we be attacked again and yet they both insist upon keeping watch. Neither will listen to reason when Imrain tries to tell them that what we all need is rest should we need to run again. When we need to run again. It is inescapable of course; the crawling way in which we have lived our last few weeks. Running, hiding, skulking. A never-ending circle. And we still seem no closer to what we seek. There seems to be nothing in this world that would aid us.
We have reached the borders of Ithilien and before us stretches great expanses of green fields; in the distance bright blue shimmers in the morning light. I sit here now, still trembling even as the sun's warmth thaws my body. None care for the food Kleo prepared and eat only because we know it is necessary. The beauty of what lies before us seems lost or like a dream from which to wake would only bring us back to a dark, cruel world full of endless torment.
Wait… Fréa has espied something. All around me the others are destroying all signs of our makeshift camp and preparing to fight or fly. Should we fear this, this, thing? It seems like naught I have ever seen in my life and yet I feel I should not pass judgment yet, it is still too far away. The Captain and Lady Éowyn have already begun to argue on our next course of action but at the pace the creature is moving I think that choice has already been stolen from us.
Yours in good faith,
Malachi, Scribe of Ithilien.