I have found a place to live while on pilgrimage to these savage lands to the south. It is blazing hot outside the walls of the house, but it has a small garden in a walled in enclosure and a deep pool of water that these natives call a swimming pool. Swimming in my country means crossing a river, or drowning in a lake. One does not swim for pleasure. I have been offered swimming lessons by the ladies of the house, so that I might cool myself in the evenings once the heat has abated somewhat. Lessons have not started, however due to the unseasonable rainstorms, thunderstorms and the danger of lightning, so we have stayed inside sewing, embroidering and reading. Their clothing is somewhat strange, but seems to be far more comfortable than the heavy wool and linen that I wear daily. I think I will switch to the clothes of this native place, should my countrymen come across me, they might not recognize me by the clothes. That might be more of a joke on them, as I see them dropping of heat exhaustion wearing such layers of linen and wool, under their armor.
Speaking of armor, it brings to mind a knight protector.. The ladies have assured me that I might need one to fight my battles for me. I look askance at them when they say this, have I not gotten to where I am by fainting on the arm of a man? No, but it is a romantic notion nonetheless, that a strong man would take my banner to the field and maybe with some heavy fighting and a lot of luck win the day in my honor…*Snort* Then again, it all sounds like something from those French romance novels they sell at the merchant shops… A good read for the idle moment…
This strange land is not so strange after all, I have met with the Chieftan and his Lady and found them fair and the rest of the population to be generous and caring. Hard work will come, but for now I will get to know these strangers and hope that they will be friends.
Will wonders never cease? They too love archery and other wonderful forms of exercise. Their fighters gather in a wooded parkland to practice every Sunday and Tuesdays and the Archers gather at a sandy spot to practice every Saturday. I find myself drawn into assisting with the usual scribal duties and writing a few newsletters on the odd month to keep my spirits up and spread the knowledge of a few to the many. The days blurr into weeks and the weeks blur into months..Feasts are enjoyed and I find that it has been two years in the blazing sun of the Southern Outlands. Time for me to move on.
After two years in the southern deserts in the hospitality of the Citadel of the Southern Pass we find ourselves yet again on caravans, instead heading North East. Out of the Heat and dry sandy desert I travel to the kingdom of Atlantia and into the Barony of Tir-y-Don… The Welsh have been here too I see.