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Bear tracks – moving towards Loudwater. Must be struggling to find food. Been here several days, though. May have come and gone. Snow still making it difficult.


Just realized I wrote Loudwater. I’m nowhere near Loudwater, and haven’t been for more than a century.

Tracks are moving towards Mirabar.

Perhaps I haven’t fully taken my father’s words to heart – at least not when it comes to Loudwater.

I haven’t forgive or forgotten, and it eats at me, slowly. Gnawing like a wolf at a bone.

Nearly a century we spent there, struggling, building, surviving – and finally, thriving. My father’s shop did well, for decades. He worked, and worked, and worked. Never lost faith. Not in himself, not in the people of Loudwater, not in me.

Or if he did, no one would ever know it but him.