Tilia’s Field Notes: On Observing

I packed this book of empty pages when I set out adventuring with the intention of keeping records of new plants and animals that I encountered. And so I shall, but it seems there are more things of interest to observe – such as my companions and our travails, even my own thoughts – than I had initially intended to record. Maybe that’s part of what I need to learn on this journey.

Truth be told, I miss home, although I can’t quite say where home is anymore. Having no true homeland somehow keeps me in a state of continual depletion. There’s a constant dull sensation of emptiness that nothing can fill, like a bruise that’s always under pressure and therefore never heals. When I cannot turn my mind to other things, the hurt grows from a whimper to a roar that makes it painful to even breathe, and everything inside me aches.

Although this internal desolation threatens to overwhelm me almost every day, I cannot speak of it to my companions. What would I even say – that I’m “homesick” despite having no home? That my very soul feels untethered? Surely, they couldn’t understand my distress. I don’t understand it myself.

But for better or worse, my traveling companions are quite an effective distraction, leaving me blessed little opportunity for contemplation or melancholy. Most days, the physical exhaustion of hard travel and combat let me fall into sleep before sinking into despair. Taking part in our expeditions, however ill-advised some of them turn out to be, seems to keep the heartache at bay. And I would rather sustain another accursed wound than stare into the hollowness of my heart.

Of late, I’ve also begun to doubt that I’ll ever find my firbolg tribe, especially if I continue traveling with these adventurers. My kind wouldn’t make themselves known to such a wayward, noisy group as ours, unless it were to drive us off from the forest to leave the beasts and plants in peace.

But all the same, I’m not sure I could locate a firbolg tribe — mine or any other — even if I traveled alone. The only place to search is the forest where my childhood stronghold once stood, and I no longer remember where that was. Even if I could find the right patch of the right forest, I might not recognize it, and my tribe might not have returned. It’s impossible to consider asking the others to venture far out of our way on such a slim hope. This part of my quest seems increasingly futile, but I’m not quite ready to let go of it completely. Not yet.

I’ve started to wonder if this strange tribe of adventurers may be the one I’m really meant to find. And whether I will ever find myself at home again.