Day Three-Fifty-Seven: Alas, poor Goat. I knew him, Horatio!

Dad held a little rally today, right out in the open. Discussed us going after Pagan and stealing his food stores. He says we shouldn't have to pay the old man shit. My dad's arm was payment enough, or something. His argument didn't make sense, but it got people nice and riled. 

If a goat hadn't shambled into town at that moment, they may well have run off to attack Pagan's manor. Instead, they tackled, cooked and ate the goat. The allure of meat is just too much.

A goat, you ask? A goat, I say, and one of the goats that strayed from town during Barrel's weird rebellion. Can tell by the little swirl brand on its right leg.

I was standing off to one side, watching the rally from the shadows of the pub, when the goat wobbled into Pubton from the direction of the forest, bleating weakly. It was clearly hurt, and I could see that it had, of all things, bruises under its fur. Not cuts or scratches or bite marks, bruises. Like something had been knocking the crap outta it. Probably woulda recovered in a few days had the small mob not turned it into mincemeat ten minutes later.

Poor goat. I almost feel sorry for you. Only almost.

The smell and taste of meat was enough to appease the mob for a while, and dad opted to instead lead an expedition into the woods to try and catch more animals, assuming they were coming back. They returned four hours later with a single sheep, which got the same treatment - and was similarly bruised.

I don't know what's going on with the animals. I also don't really care. Unless they all suddenly flood back into town and need protecting, I will happily take this small stream of returning animal flesh without question. Call me a pessimist, but when you've eaten nothing but vegetation for two weeks you get a bit testy. I do, anyway.

Gods but that goat tasted good. Didn't get any sheep, but... the goat… mmmmm. Juicy. I used to take the Beefiary for granted back home, I really did.

While I wait for answers from Edmund and stew over the problem, my mind is drawn to various other issues that I know should be of import. Should I be worried about Grayson's burgeoning weirdness? What do we do with Evangelina? Why was June's motivation for bringing us here? Is it connected to Kierkegaard's presence a few weeks ago? And speaking of the jester bastard, when's he going to follow through on that parting threat and come knocking? He made it sound like he'll be a while, but… you have to take everything he says with a grain of salt the size of my head…

To hell with it. If I'm waiting, I'll do it armed with information. Tomorrow I'm going to June's hut and demanding answers to my questions. She knows a lot more than she ever lets on, and I'll be damned if I'll let her screw around with me any more. At the very LEAST I need her to let Robert the Librarian go once and for all.

You'd figure a guy who managed to escape the jaws of death would feel less pressured by the weight of the world. You'd figure he might be willing to relax, having realized that you don't sweat the little things in life, and that all things are little things. Clearly, you'd figure wrong.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor