Monotonous

I have not bothered to write for one simple reason: nothing has changed.

I paddle my elven boat down the river. At night, I tie my boat up on shore and sleep. I made a net from my old, worn-out pack, and once the sun reaches its highest point in the sky, I put it in the water, behind my boat, in the hopes that I will catch a fish before nightfall. I still have plenty of the lembas, but I prefer to save it for a time when there are no animals around to hunt, or when I cannot waste time to hunt and prepare food.

What else is there to say? The landscape varies greatly. From empty flat lands to sheer cliffs and deep forests. Up ahead are two great masses of stone, one on either side of the river. It is hard to tell from this distance, but they look like giants, or giant stone statues, at least.

I am writing now because I must rest my arms, sore from almost non-stop rowing. But the soreness is beginning to fade, and I think I will continue. It is almost dark, and there are not many places to pull ashore. I must find something to fasten my boat to, before I end up rowing and drifting through the night.