Alone in the woods I sit, weeping desperately. For many years I have been the Chronicler of my tribe, tending to my duties as best I could. In the end, though, my capabilities have fell short of the expectations placed on me by my former master and my whole tribe. I have tried to explain to myself that my hasty training was at fault - my predecessor's first pupil having died in battle only months before my master's eventual death. A replacement had to be found, and there I was.
I do have knowledge of our history, which I have in turn taught to my eventual follower, but in these dark times our tribe would need more than that: They would need someone to inspire them, to guide them through the dark times, to provide a dream to follow to those who have none of their own, to nourish their minds, helping them forget the dullness of their existence for just a single moment... The seed planted into me by my former master I have not been able to nourish, and though I have grown ideas of my own as well, I have not been able to breathe life into them as a Chronicler should.
In all that, I have failed. I can only hope that my pupil, whose creativeness and wit I deeply envy, will fare better in this task. In her, I see some of the old master's spirit that I have, in vein, tried to capture. Now that she has learned everything I have to teach her of our history and legend, I have no choice but to acknowledge her as a better Chronicler in every way. The pupil has exceeded her master, and the master must therefore step aside...
Performing my duties as a Chronicler - and despairing over my own ineptitude in those duties - I have neglected to maintain my skills for survival and battle. Now, the tribe no longer having real need for me as their Chronicler, I have no useful skills with which to justify my continuing presence among them. The least I can do is take my leave and trust myself to the mercy of the wilderness; suicide though it may well be, I cannot bear being only a burden to others.
I look back one more time, seeing the glow of the campfire through the thick forest. For a moment I feel ashamed leaving like this, telling no-one, but I have no courage left to face those whose trust I have betrayed, especially my own pupil, to whom I merely left the Chronicler's staff, there to be found when she wakes up. This greater shame of betrayal of trust overweighing the other, I turn my back on my past companions and get on my way.