The Journals of Cullen Rutherford 363

melaena:

9:41 10th August

Lack of sleep is normal for me.
I do not wish to dream as most nights these dreams turn sour.
There are places within my mind that should never be disturbed, for once
awakened they delight in tormenting me with faces and events of my past.

This was such a night. Instead, I took
to the pathways and talked with those on the watch; listening to their thoughts
and concerns allowed me to shift the focus away from myself and place it
squarely on the well-being of those under my command.

Even the Rest seemed subdued; light
music filtered through the open windows, but without the usual ruckus. I could
have spent a few hours in the warmth of the tavern, but still I walked on,
through empty rooms and quiet battlements. I climbed the far tower, greeting a
few of the Templars in residence, and continued up to the lookout.

A light rush of wind now and then
reminded me of my chosen solitude, and I scanned the mountainside and area as
far as I could see. I realized something in that moment; in that simple admission
I understood the truth of what keeps me from my rest-more than the nightmares,
more than our responsibilities. I promised to try; I swore to write what I
cannot speak aloud and even though I’ve known it for far longer than should be
possible, the truth is-no matter how much I want to deny it-I was outside
looking out across the expanse for one reason. I miss her.