Day Two-Seventy-Six: Lost and Found Yet Lost Again

He's back.

Holy gods, he's actually back.

But… something's not right with him.

When he dropped out of that hole - I have no idea where that came from, so don't ask - my heart shook so much that it nearly zipped out my butt and flew away. No kidding. And when I jumped him… when I held him… he was all there… flesh, scrawny, lovely flesh… that stupid mop of hair… those kind, idiot eyes… all he was missing was his helmet.

And a chunk of his armour. I'm not sure what happened there. I'll get it out of him… I hope.

June told me that he was as he always had been. Missing some gold, maybe… not sure what money has to do with it… but back from the dead. Which means that he actually was dead. And he remembers everything, June says… everything… which explains why he's… he's so…

Empty. Yeah. That's the word.

We dragged Dragomir back to June's hut - can you call it a hut if it's stuck in a tree trunk that's four or five sizes too small? - and set him in bed. June's pet tarantula… assistant… thing… brewed a potion for him to drink, and he fell asleep right away. Didn't say a word the whole time.

And he still hasn't.

I've been sitting by his bed since Friday. He wakes up a lot; hell, he spends most of his time awake. He's… he's not here, though, when he's awake. He's somewhere else. His body's doing everything it needs to do, eating and pooping and peeing and all that, but he doesn't seem to know that there are people around him.

And believe me, I've tried to get his attention. I've kissed him, I've hugged him, I've yelled at him, I've shaken him, I've punched him, I even picked him up over my shoulder and threw him into the swamp. Twice. The second time was more out of frustration… point is, he won't respond, won't say a word, won't even look me straight in the eye. He's lost somewhere.

June doesn't seem worried. She's not sure what happened when he died - I hate saying that so much, but I guess he did, if what June said in those ruins was true - but she figures it must have been traumatic. Enough to drive him inward. I figure dying on its own is sufficient to fuck somebody's brain six ways to next week, but June thinks there's more to it. Considering how we parted ways, and how screwed our old home seems to be, I won't argue with her.

We've decided to go back to Goblinoster tomorrow, even though we… kinda… busted the place up on the way out. Dragomir might respond to familiar faces, and even though Barrel is still missing he's at least got Edmund.

And Robert, wherever they've stashed the old man.

And Harold, I guess. Pimply little bastard. Nicer than the rest of his kind, but still stuck up.

And the other nobles. Familiar faces aren't always the same as friendly faces, but… at least they shouldn't hold anything against him…? Hell, they should be grateful to my husband - his bravery let the sorry bastards get out of that hellish hole in the first place.

I know I am. Grateful, that is. I've told Dragomir a couple times that I hate him and love him for what he did, abandoning me and saving me. I'm proud as shit of that man, even if he did leave me pregnant and alone with a bunch of shit-faced aristocrats.

Anyway. I think I'm ranting. We're going back, that's what's important. I'll write more in you tomorrow, or something… though hopefully it'll just be Dragomir who has the honour.

Hopefully.

Libby

PS - and this is directly to you, diary - how in the hells did you get into those ruins? And what's with all these weird, empty pages I can't write in?! Fucking mysteries…