August 19, 3018, along the Greyflood

For two weeks now I have traveled northward along the banks of the river Greyflood. The going has been rough, and oft I have had to leave the banks and search for clearer passage. There has been no road to follow, only the sight and sound of the water. If anyone ever lived here, they must have been light-footed wood Elves who lived in trees and made no paths.

I stand now at the fork of the waterway, and my road and my destiny turn northeast along the Bruinen. This I shall follow for a day, and then I shall begin to cross and search the lands that lie between the river and the mountains. Heretofore , my path has been sure, but now I face a hard and lonely task, one sure to be full of doubt and much fruitless searching. If I succeed, there is hope for my people. If I fail, after a time, Minas Tirith will fall, and a blackness will take over the land. I must succeed, or die trying.

Boromir