Leatherbound history

Hot springs are magical, magical places. I did not understand why people went to Winterspring before yesterday- now I know that I was seeing only the "Winter" part of the name. I must have floated in a waking daze for hours, listening to the forest's busy sounds and inspecting the flakes of snow that fell outside the radius of heat. My whole body is better for it- I think I will visit that spot more often. Ebon's two visits were a nice surprise..it was good to speak to her without other ears to worry about. I am bad at speaking in crowds, even a handful and I feel like leather pulled across the head of a drum.

Taking the wyvren back to back to the Bluffs was...less than pleasing. Every strand of fur that had been wet, froze. By the time I got off I was desperate for a warm mug of stew and a flask of light wine mixed with juice. I did notice a few lodges nestled away in the swaying pines. In the interest of getting myself back in working order, I'm considering renting one close to the springs. Ebon said that she felt the Bluffs were less and less a home; maybe she would not oppose a short hiatus in the snow.

Whatever Sam did, it proves he was born to give a healer's touch. My unbroken right arm, the one with the most flesh wounds, feels much better than yesterday. I feel the strength coming back to it, starting in at the shoulder and moving downwards with slow conviction.
I wonder what had him so on edge? I've never heard another speak like that, especially in the absence of a mortal wound. Takchawee seemed on edge around him- maybe there is more to those two I don't see yet. Wouldn't be surprising, I've known T'wee over twice as long as Sam, and I think that puts T'wee at just under one week.

Speaking of which..what is this business of love she spouts? I have forgiven her, I see that she is lonely, but love us? It didn't sound like the kind of friendly words I've heard others say to comrades. How can she love us- hell, how can she say she loves me after not even knowing me for a day out of this medicine haze? I understand she finds me attractive, and I'll put up with her advances so long as she remains worth knowing, but...honestly. Maybe I just do not understand love yet. I don't think it was meant for me, and now I feel like a smithy who's lost his hammer and found himself stuck in a gnomish quilting house.. Furthermore, it seems she spends at least two thirds of the day on the spirit rise with us (Is this her tent or Ebon's? ) and I have to wonder if her calves go hungry. Does she intend to pinch off the family she's started for the unsteady path into ours? I welcome any worthy friend into our pack, but I feel she must untangle her webs first. Mayhaps I'll start that ball rolling when I lay eyes on this Runetotem. I often wonder if it is because I put physical pleasure below all else that I see clearly. To take a doe to bed for her first time, so crudely as to make her belly swell and then not whisper even one kind word?

I think I must help T'wee find a real love and a better home, and maybe a way to use her strength for more than blocking arrows and swords if I am ever to have Ebon alone again for more than half an hour..

The shaking is worse than the fractures and bruises and sprains. The shaking and the chattering, the twitching and the clattering, all night, most of the day. Especially the legs. Damn my legs. I had to use a staff to walk earlier, though with the pain as it was I'm not sure walking was a good idea. The tent held mead and company later, which helped. Ebon seemed desperate to get me to talk with Takchawee. I wont disobey her..but..it is very strange to be asked to be best of friends so soon after what happened. In fact, it seemed like she wanted the three of us to act as cubs in a pile. I do not dislike her- she is a lost soul, and much like Ebon in many ways, but, I am just not ready. [an ink smear]
Damn these muscles...this is not the fall. This is them. The healer said it would be harder than before, and gave me this weak dose in a flask to to help stave off the "side effects". I dont think I can tell Ebon. She wouldent understand this thing, I dont think. Would I only have chosen the ales as my saviour, I may not have been in such a mess. A tavern and a mug is preferable to the bloody trenches. The healer asked how I got the essence so fully out of the runes, how I used them. I never knew others just invoked them for mana. I crush them into shards first, and then take the right shard- it doesnt look different, but you know which it is. It wants you to know. You take it, and bury it in your blood. You can eat them too, but that's a different trip. It's more for..not being. Burying them is being, but moreso. And the nightmares... One minute you're a little human girl in westfall begging her father not to slaughter a horse, and the next you're in the memories of an ancient being, remembering wars long lost. And- [there is another smear]

Why do I wish for such horrible things?

I am a fool.


I had intended only a short stay, to grow a thick skin for the many cold, bitter nights I thought were my fate. "I know some tribes who mate with one and love another", yes, those were my words. I had assumed, when I saw them there, that Ebon had made the choice to love Takchawee, and come to me only when she desired to create calves. I was prepared, though unhappy. I planned to get a supply of my vice to last me, and then become a shadow. No assassin, no theif, no predator would ever make it alive to their door- for I would be the crow circling their paths, the skulking animal in the night that hunted their hunters.

I couldent help myself, I had to use the first few runes I found. And then the next few. I might have had a decent stash, but only one remained in my paws when I staggered off of the big circular pit. Between the awkward fall and my inability to fight off the demons that waited over the altar I had fallen on, I managed to break my left arm above the wrist and six ribs. I dont remember much after that, until what had to be hours later. I've not been able to quit the shaking in my limbs and the chattering of my teeth since then. I never meant any harm to her. I wasn't myself..

[The writing on this page is in cenarion, rather than orcish. The hand is twisting and spidery, as though it took a long time to write each letter but the hand holding the pen did so with claws extended. Now and again, earthy red brown spots stain the page, centering in on the middle of the page.]
My head hurts.

I see no reason to write in this stupid thing. I do not know why I do, but at least it is one thing I will hold on to. Maybe. At the very least, some elf is likely to find it and mark down my existence as a curious stain on the Tauren record.

Old habits do die hard. I got them in Azshara, and felwood as before. They remembered me [here in the page is an inkblot, as though some convulsed motions took place.] They remembered and ran. Their hooves are not as fast as mine. Small and round and black, heavier than they look, glowing sigil. [a small burn mark, from an ember or intense heat nearby]

Yes, my head hurts. But mayhaps I like it that way after all.

I...
[ there is a space left and a smudge, as though the journal was thrown or left out in the open for a while before the next part was written.]

I should not have left so long. I made myself wait to write this entry, dragons only know why I write here. This damn book does symbolize my faults. Bound in shiney leather, left to crack in the rain, oiled, but still neglected. Why should I be angry with Ebon for seeking love elsewhere? Had I been half the bull I should be, I should have at least been around to see her more than chance meetings. She had told me when we met for the second time that she has had many mates. I remember now that I am but one of a line. Haregirn, Ishnara, those are the only ones I remember but I would not be suprised if there were more. They didnt see me but I dropped my damndable pack like a scared calf. I should have seen this coming, hells maybe I did. Maybe that's why I still feel compelled to be as accomodating and..I dont even know the words. Father is laughing, somewhere. Father is laughing, and making jokes that his son be replaced by a woman. Damn me, why is this so hard to wrap my head around? Did Nightbane finally boil it with his breath?

Hells. I am angry...but I can not be angry at her. Gods and dragons damn me, I can never be angry with her.

[the journal is somewhat mangled after this, three shredded pages and a few more soaked with blackish blood and stained with an odd, bitter, magical smell.]

Tower.
Always with the big stone monuments, these creatures. At least the holes in this one are letting in fresh air, and not caustic fumes like the other places have.

It was a relief to escape back to Thunder Bluff. I only seem to go there with Ebon. Maybe it isnt home otherwise. I met Takchawee there as well. I had seen her about the towns before- another female warrior strong of hoof and bone. The three of us drank (it turns out, I still loathe bourbon. Ah well. Maybe I'll develop a taste of it yet.) and laughed, and finally fell into Ysera's waiting wings together. Before that last bit though, I carved. Havent done that much, I run low on stone and my poor knife is a shadow of its former self. It turned out a sea turtle for Takchawee, fast and smooth as it ever does. I dont think I will ever be able to replace it, the knife and I have been together so long. Each new carving puts more wear on it. I know I could save it by using hammer and wedge, or even by switching to the soapy stones of Azshara yet I cannot do those things. Maybe that is why I do not carve as I once did. For fear of losing a friend.

And then there is the matter of the letter. Boxes and a will, everything owned by Silvandar and Sildonas given up to Saide and myself. I have neer been so sad to see such bounty. Still.. there is no news of a death. Tomorrow I will seek my answers. For now I enjoy the company of my mate and our new friend in peace.

I find it disparaging that I cannot seem to keep in steady contact with an aqquaintance, a friend or even a lover. This book is perfect example- full of promises and nothing else. Maybe by trying to keep it on me, I will think of it more often. At the very least, it may make the time not pass so damndable quick. Always on the hoof, on the wing..that my wolf still greets me each morning is a testament to Frostwolf breeding. I remember when I tamed her. Each day, I would slink from the front lines of the battle and bring in wolves to stable. Each day bringing offering and sacrifice to the Frostwolf tribe. I remember when they finally presented me the option of keeping any wolf I found roaming their icy planes. The joyfull feeling of the little squirming pup, yapping and snarling at bugs and rabbits. I found time then. I must learn to find time once more.

I should go buy some wine..

I havent writted here in ages. This book may well be moldering. Ick. It's been a long road for sure, since then. The me I read about is diferent in many ways, his thoughts are more scattered than mine. So determined I was.

Enough of that, though. Today I write to put joy inbetween the rotting spine of this tome- for once again I am no longer alone. I should have known, I should have known all along I cant help but repeat to myself what a fool I was for doubting her. Today, I regained control of myself and through that a window to her. After so many months, it is ironic to think that the speaking stones found us so close.

Today I gave her all of myself that I could, and was repaid in kind. I do not know if I believe in the place after death I have heard the priests speak of, but if it is anything like today... I should like to have a word with their gods.