Fin's sixth entry

I bit hard onto one end of the leather wrappings that were to go around my feet and gave it a rough yank by the other end. I was hardly used to walking these long distances so I never bothered to get my hands on a pair of proper boots. Desperately trying to cover up my grief with annoyance was little help; Frost had died at the hands of the Forsworn and even though I am not at all one for walking across the land, I had lost a faithful companion to some blasted barbarians. I had been riding so much and walking so little that the skin under my feet had become smooth and soft. As I sat there at the side of the dusty road, Meeks wouldn't stop staring at me. Staring like he does it with those big eyes - he had lost a friend too. Could we only rewind time, we would go back and take the hit ourselves. Damned be the Reach. I am only in this dry, dusty place because there is coin to be made, and a lot I hope. The footswraps are tight enough and I have brushed Meeks' fur through with troll fat so he won't dry out. Arcadia said I should do so anyway, I am not sure whether to trust her on such matters or not. I checked that all of my pockets and pouches were secured before I latched my bow onto my back over the quiver. A certain Hagraven possessed what I had been paid to fetch but it was hard not to turn around and immediately initiate cold and sharp revenge over the wild Forsworn.

- Fin Larksong