The strength flees from my hands, and so I will make this short.

I have grown sickly and weak, and I have not the health to continue with
my normal life. I will be leaving for the forests of the far south to
retire in isolation. I do not know when, or even if, I will recover from
this illness. Until then, I bid my family, friends, and associates a
hasty farewell, as the caravan leaves tonight and cannot wait. I will
return at least once a year for a day or two, that is if my health
permits it. If I do not return, I have most likely perished.


Fedith D'Murne

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Bellum, in the year 425 AD.