Day Three-Forty-Six: A severe case of rat malaise

The forest has become a fortress. If I was feeling sillier I might call it a 'forestress'. But I'm not feeling silly, because this is very serious. Very serious indeed.

…

Hm. Forestress… it's a little awkward… too many esses, makes you sound like a snake when you say it… you gotta think about these things when you're a writer, y'know? Fortress… forestress… ssssssss… maybe Treetress would sound better? No, no, that's stupid.

Uh. Yeah. Anyway. Back to it.

Last week most of what we got from the forest was angry glares and the occasional blast of dragon's breath. Now we're encountering more open hostility, as we've seen bands of animals tromping out into the field between settlement and trees and leering at our homes. I'm convinced they plan to attack us. That's a bad thing, as they kinda outgun us at the moment.

Heh. Outgun. Hell, Barrel himself outguns us. Could strafe Pubton with his fire and we wouldn't be able t'do a damned thing to stop him. Lords, what a situation.

I did the only thing I could do, today, and went to see the rats. They brought a lot of these animals here in the first place, and presumably they can control said animals. I say 'presumably', because I presumed that they could. Turns out they can't.

'We can't help you' was the only thing written in you, diary, when I descended into their warren for a chat. The letters were shaky and almost indistinct against your yellowed pages. When I asked for clarification, the rats underlined the sentence and stumbled back to their hiding places under the massive roots of the golden tree.

I should probably mention, because it was just inferred, that the rats look terrible. Like, REALLY terrible. They're quite sluggish when they move about, most of them have little furry bags under their eyes, and almost all of them have streaks of white running through their fur. They're badly aged by something… and it looks like they don't want to be here anymore… but they won't leave.

Perhaps not coincidentally, the golden tree looks brighter than ever down here. You don't notice the glow so much when you're on the surface, but down here… so bright. I wonder if it's doing something to them…

Irritated by the rats' failure to help, and a little spooked by how freely Philip's moving around these days - he trashed Robert's kitchen this morning and used potato stew to paint a horse's butt on the wall - I did the only thing I could do: I ordered extra watches. Armed watches. If the animals decide to make a move on Pubton, I want to know about it. Immediately. We can't let these fuzzy assholes trash our homes again.

Why do I say 'again'? Because our former livestock aren't the only creatures caught up in this rebellion. Apparently the local wildlife has joined their forays out of the forest. Grylock spotted a little band of beavers earlier today, and I sure as hell don't remember anyone raising beavers in Pubton.

Ugh. Can't I have a GOOD week, for once? Not much positive has happened since Grayson was born… and even my little man has shown distinct signs of weirdness… no happy for Dragomir…? Ever…?

Sincerely, 

Dragomir the Mayor