Tyding Goes Camping

My dear, leather-bound friend,
 
Forgive my brevity, but it is difficult to write with only the light of a guttering campfire to guide me. Had I known I would be spending this much time in the out of doors, I'd have purchased some decent elven ink that I could actually see at night. Why are humans so bad at making things?
 
My new friends took me camping! It was extremely thoughtful and kind of them to invite me, so please don't tell them how much I hate it. One thing no one ever tells you about camping: there are no beds! People assume just because elves don't sleep that we can rest anywhere at all. There are lots of rocks on the ground, and I bruise quite easily. And the victuals one is expected to eat out here could make a bloke positively nostalgic for the dinners back at the Diseased Dog! (Dreadful name for inn; how does it stay in business?) I soldiered through, of course. We Grimms are nothing if not determined, wot, GamGam? I don't mind telling you, though, things looked dire for the continued comfort of my tushy on multiple occasions in the first day alone!
 
Now for some words Father said I'd never utter: All that sword practice on Mother's shrubbery was time well-spent! My sword, the one Daddy dubbed Weedwhacker, has tasted sap again! This strange woods (the name escapes me) is home to at least two varieties of man-sized, carnivorous flora! I cut down half a dozen leafy monstrosities (hush, Gammy) single-handedly (hush, I say!), and our shaggy-browed compatriot Moes burned another to the ground with a well-placed fire pot! It's true what they say, miracles do come in bunches. Or shall I say, "in bushes?" (Did you hear that, Grandmummy? In bushes? How droll I am tonight! It's the fresh air, I'll wager. This is the first night in over a year that I've breathed air that doesn't reek of tanner's wee. I'm giddy!)
 
We also met some travelers that we didn't fight. Yes, it was a surprise to me, as well. After our trip to the orphanage, I was under the impression that our Breakfast Club simply fought everyone. Perhaps we only attack things that are small. Egad... Is that why Fynn so rarely fights? He is passing small himself, come to think on it. And did he not shoot that child with three arrows made of magic? She was smaller than him, if only barely.
 
That's it, then. Another mystery solved, sweet journal! It's a relief to finally understand some of the rules of this Breakfast Club. We learned the hard way that one needs to humor Fonzie when he speaks about the invisible dream demons that wear human skins and secretly run the world. He sounds quite mad, but we must remember that he has taken several forceful blows to the head recently and has been living on a diet consisting mostly of fish entrails for half a year. And the jigsaw person - one day they are so quiet they seem almost not to be there, the next it's impossible to shut them up. They seem to have a story for every occasion, often concerning some chap named Gay Gayle. I expect it's one of those ironic monikers as the fellow doesn't sound very gay at all. He seems quite taciturn, actually.
 
Alas, friend, these letters grow harder to pen, and there is suddenly a heretofore undiscovered root trying to wedge itself between the cheeks of my bum. I must away, but, as ever, I remain (a very uncomfortable),
 
TG