Day Three-Fifty-Four: This may be a recurring problem

HE'S GONE

SWEET FUCKING GENTLE HEATHENS OF THE SOUTHERN PLAINS HE'S GONE

I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT LAST SENTENCE WAS SUPPOSED TO MEAN BECAUSE I DON'T THINK THEY ACTUALLY EXIST BUT LORDS HELP ME HE'S GOOOOOOOOONE

AGAAAAAAAIN

It happened during a visit to Robert's kitchen. He's still peeved at me about the dressing-as-an-elephant-and-ditching-him-to-be-chased-by-a-ghost thing, and I've been sucking up to him a bit to get in his good graces. Doesn't pay to have the cook pissed at you, even if you are the mayor. He, Bora and I were all chatting about the prisoner upstairs -

- when Bora pointed at the empty backpack slung from my shoulders. "Uh, shouldn't that… have… somethin' in it…?"

I flipped. I have no idea how he got out - well, that's a lie, really, I have a GREAT idea how he got out - but Grayson was gone. IS gone. Is STILL gone. And I've been running around ALL DAY, TRYING TO FIND HIM.

Most of the community knows. I've quietly enlisted the help of a dozen people to aid me in the search for my lost boy, and though word has quickly spread, everyone knows to keep it a secret from Libby. They know that I'd not live to see another day if I lost her boy. Thank the gods that she's tinkering with her Allofusmas present, or I'd never get away with this.

We've looked freaking EVERYWHERE. He's not in the pub. He's not on the top floor of the pub. He's not outside the pub. He's not in the fields, he's not in the empty stables or pens, he's nowhere near the frozen river, he's not on or under the rickety bridge we've built OVER the river, he's not in or on or under the golden tree, he's not visiting the foxes, he's not visiting the rats, he's not ANYWHERE, and no one has even found a TRACE of him. It's like Grayson never freaking EXISTED. No tracks, no drag marks, no drool, no little piles of baby doo doo. NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING.

Oh man. Oh man. Oh man.

I'm gonna keep searching. All I can do is keep searching. A couple of nice peasants have agreed to keep Libby busy for the night, Edmund's with her despite his still-healing injuries, and I'm using the excuse that Grayson and I are 'bonding' on a camping trip. Libby's probably a bit mad about that, but not enough to come looking for us when night falls. Especially since we're accompanied by a couple guys.

Which we aren't.

Because there is no camping trip.

It's a hunting party.

I've only stopped to make this entry because I'm FREEEEEAKING OOOOOOOUT

You don't understand, diary. Grayson isn't just Libby's son. He's her pride and joy. He makes her, I dunno, complete. She's so freaking HAPPY around him. It's like all the normal anger and gruffness leeches away into the ground, leaving one of the most pleasant people alive behind. WE CAN'T LOSE HIM BECAUSE LIBBY WILL MURDER ME IN SO MANY HORRIBLE AND SUNDRY WAYS.

Also he's my son and I miss him and stuff.

FUCK

I ALSO STILL DON'T HAVE A PRESENT FOR GRYLOCK AND NOW I DON'T HAVE TIME TO THINK OF ANYTHING

GRAYSON COME BAAAAAACK

Sincerely,

WAAAAAAH