30 Tarsakh
Dear Diary,
Maybe I should've written more; it's been a while now, and all I've bothered to write have been some book notes. Sylvan is such a beautiful language. There's still hardly anything to do here, and it's so quiet! I don't know why Daddy sent me here, and why in such a hurry either. I got a letter from him (with my allowance--Imoen and I may attempt a shopping spree in the near future) and he says nothing about Eldoth or my nightly adventures, just a polite your-stepmother's-doing-well-and-your-brother's-still-off-with-the-caravans-how-are-you.
Anyway, my lockpicking skills are improving. Imoen and I got into the cellar and abstracted a bottle of Arabellan Dry for a small party on the roof. When I got back half drunk Gorion started interrogating me on my reading.
I think he has some interesting things to say about Khelben Blackstaff. I must ask him again while sober. I thought he looked a little worried as he was talking to me...maybe it was just the wine. His study door's locked now.
The monks here don't celebrate Greengrass properly, so Imoen and I are going to have our own little festival tonight. I nicked some roses off Ulraunt's garden.
~Skie.