It is a near Universal axiom expounded by all the Ancient Doctors of Literature that great care should be taken in fashioning the first sentence of any opus, even one of such a humble form as this, a Journal. I disagree, holding that the second, in moving away or outward from the first, reveals without insisting upon the point somewhat of the Nature of Life itself.
Within that moving away and outward, what some have called the Universal "On", shadow of the Demiurge, is where I deem our interest should be lodge. A difficult housing indeed but, even so, I have endeavored to begin. And you shall be the Judge.
I remember first strangely, a simple rabbit in a dewy morn, small and grey, that roused me from a low crouch deep in some thicket where, mindless and staring, I had endured the long, slow gathering of light, as Day, unstoppable in its course, unfolded. The rabbit nosed its way about, some 20-30 yards away ~to my left as I looked to the South~ as if nothing was amiss. As if Meaning itself was still an easy assumption. Hopping softly about as it nibbled, now here, now there and briskly looked about.
It occurred to me that if I could carefully make my way to the road that must surely lie not far ahead, without disturbing the rabbit unduly, then that would be a good beginning to what might prove a very long day. But it was not so easy. My normally limber and quite capable physique was a clenched mass of tension and the newly purchased Splint Mail, which had pleased my vanity so greatly just yesterday, was still an unfamiliar challenge to movement. And the new Longbow, a quiver-full of arrows and last, but not least, Bessie, my War Hammer.
In spite of myself, I almost laughed out loud, forgetting a moment, the pain, the fear, the emptiness... Bessie! I had actually christened the Hammer ~with water from Oghma's Temple, no less. Bessie..!
And I became calm. My ability to focus returned.
Surveying the ground I picked out a likely route and moved forward, imagining myself to be like the Rangers I had enjoyed reading of in my latter years at Candlekeep. I actually covered a good 15-20 feet before the rabbit in question, deigned to notice me. It did not flee, merely moving somewhat further away with what seemed a deliberate nonchalance. And it then returned to the business of eating...
I cannot convey how strange that was! A clear joy took hold of me after such hours of terror endured in the night. I forged ahead to the road, The Lion's Way, which was indeed close by and turned to look once more for my disdainful brother, the rabbit, as if to bid farewell. But it was gone and my seized gaze soared over the forest verge as if an eagle had taken flight from my forehead to the place where Gorion's body now lay.
Alas, for Lord Gorion, Master of Candlekeep Fortress, Guardian of Lore, mighty of mind and magic, now, in a moment, gone beyond this frame called Life. For Gorion was surely dead. I shuddered to remember how helpless he seemed at the last, his magic exhausted, having vanquished all of his foes -but one, a tall weirdly armored figure who felled my Foster-Father of 20 years with a single powerful blow from his sword.
The spell or instinct which had held me transfixed in the hiding place from which I had witnessed the furious battle, knowing myself profoundly outclassed, collapsed at once and, heedless of danger, I fled, judging that, if there were others unseen watching for me, my best hope lay in immediate escape and distance.