Today, after being a long while in the dark, I was granted light. I speak both literally and metaphorically—I have been a time in a box, which smelled of must, and only recently have I emerged into my life as it is here; and also I feel as though I have slept a long while without thought, but at last I dream again, and begin to remember. I am certain that I am very important, and that as soon as I can recall why, all will be clear.
Being as I am a person of great import, you can imagine my distress at my present surroundings, which seem to be the result of a particularly violent natural catastrophe. I present pictorial evidence, and would add that the air is at times so thick with dust that one might believe it to be the dead of winter, and snowing.
Therefore I am most pleased to report that I am not alone in this dreary and forsaken land, but rather have already encountered a companion.
Tara McClay, as she is called, is an Amazon of a woman, built on quite a large scale, but not displeasing to the eye. I shall in the future essay to woo her, and am certain of my success. I am (I do not remember this, but feel it in my bones) a man with a record of some luck with the ladies. Also she seemed quite pleased by my presence, and her welcome was warm indeed. She reported that she had been there some time without a companion, and understood my predicament precisely. She even guessed that I did not yet understand our situation, although I did not admit it, and she said quite mysteriously (given that I am certain we have not met) that she had admired me for some time. This is doubtless natural.
She also aided in our introductions by assuring me that my name was William when I stumbled over it, although she produced no information as to my family name.
I felt that she was perhaps getting above her station in her eagerness to care for me, and reminded her that of the two of us, I possessed both a book and a quill, while she seemed to lack in this area. It was a misstep, made in the foolishness of my fear and desire to impress. Tara possess not only a book, but also a pedestal, a candle, a bag, and a bottle.
I cannot understand the sense of inferiority with which this fact imbues me, but I can comfort myself in the knowledge that I have a pen and she is entirely lacking in this crucial department.
In the end, Tara convinced me that we would be best served by packing our things away for the time, as there were apt to be earthquakes (she hesitated over the word, and I suspect her of outright falsehood in addition to her obvious discretion) and it would all be simpler that way. I agreed to her proposal, although reluctantly.
I shall continue to appraise you of my wellbeing. For now, my foremost goal must be ascertaining my own identity (or rather, my two foremost goals must be ascertaining my own identity and also wooing the good lady Tara; fortunately Scottish women are as loose as they are lovely).
