Day Three-Hundred-One: Weeeee

Clomp, clomp, clomp. On we go. The path, she is long and never-ending. Ugh, when will this damned witch tell us to stop already?!

The caravan is significantly bigger thanks to Robert and his cronies, who, I suppose, are now MY cronies. It's a good thing they're along, too - most of 'em are more down-to-earth labourer types, and we're gonna need all the help we can get in that regard. Makin' the nobles do physical work… well, lemme just say that they're apathetic to the idea. At best.

At worst they're whiny and resistant. What happened to me savin' your life, eh? Couldn't even build a damned fire if I asked you?! Pampered ingrates.

Needless to say, morale is kinda low. It peaks a bit at dinnertime thanks to Robert's cooking, which hasn't changed a bit, but slumps again soon after. War is tiresome to play after dozens of rounds, Libby's newer attempts at board games aren't proving much more popular, and Edmund's musical repertoire has been played out a dozen times. Everybody's anxious to settle into a new village.

Oh, and there's friction betwixt the nobles and the new guys. Nobles accuse peasants of abandoning the old castle, peasants accuse nobles of being twats. There's merit to both arguments, gotta say. Jeez, how did Jeffrey hold his castle together as long as he did?

The only comfort I find these days is with my kid. Little Grayson. Gods but he's a bright one! And I don't just mean that he lifts the mood with his smiles. He can already use a spoon and fork on his own, seems to know basic math (one time I gave him an extra bread roll to eat over me 'n Libby, and he tore it in three and gave the bits to us!), and is on the verge of talking! His baby babble is less babbly and more reasoned by the day. I wonder what his first actual word will be…?

Ahh, kids. This is what I'd hoped for with Eve. Not that I regret my relationship with Eve, 'cause obviously it's better than I'd dreamed, but… yeah. Good times raising an infant.

Bah. Eve. I'm coming for you, sweetie. Hold on a while longer, 'n… I'll build up an army, or… learn swordplay, or… well, I'm coming. That's that. 

We're still heading across the plains, now wandering a little north from Villeinville. The wide-open spaces are beginning to thin, giving way to thicker-set terrain. Lotsa trees, lotsa tall grass, plenty of small rivers and lakes, mountains in the distance. I'm hoping June plans to have us set down in an area where we have access to wood, water, arable land, and places to hide.

That's my HOPE.

'course, she could be plain batshit insane. She might be leading us to a giant mud pit filled with gila monsters. "Set up in there," she'd say, "or I'll make ya invade your old castle. Hop to!" 

Thing is, I don't KNOW anything she's planning. June's a freaking mystery, her motives shrouded by her crazy hair. Is this a trap? Could she be in league with those fucking shadow thingers from the castle? It doesn't seem so… she brought me back to life, after all… but a mayor has to ponder all the possibilities, y'know? Mayor's gotta be responsible. She COULD be an enemy, is what I'm getting at.

Unless she's not.

Which she probably isn't.

But…

COULDN'T SHE JUST GIVE ME SOME INFORMATION ALREADY?! Rather than pointing in a random direction each morning and telling us to go?! ARGH! Wish Libby didn't trust the old bag so much. I could use her support in this. My wife has become biased.

Well, tomorrow I'm gonna try something different. I'm making an EXECUTIVE DECISION. First thing in the morning, when Mysterious Ms. June comes out of her caravan and points the way, I'm gonna go A DIFFERENT DIRECTION.

Yeah. How's about that, eh? Aren't I gutsy? I'm damned gutsy.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor