On some days, I take Faolan’s blade to the Standing Stones. I realize it is a danger to leave the Sundered Towers with it in tow, but the longer I keep it from the gods, the more it burns. It calls for its master.
I cannot yet take it to the crypt; it is not yet time. But something about bringing it to the stones feels like the right thing to do.
There’s nothing quite like the morning chill. It’s sad to know I can’t sleep outside all of the time, but lately there’s been a nice turn in the weather that may work in my favor.
Maybe tomorrow night, I will lie against the earth again, and hear it whisper stories in my ear.