Day Five-Hundred-Thirteen: A little whittle

Today, I made Libby smile. I carved a little statue of her with a pair of scissors. I only got halfway through, because the scissors slipped out of my hands when I realized it could technically be a weapon, and the statue looks more like an overweight old man than my beautiful wife, but I got her hair right. The ol' ponytail look.

Gods. That smile. So gorgeous, even if it is so tiny. It breaks my heart. She looks so much like our daughter.

Libby's still not talking. I'll keep working on that. For now, I have something else to discuss: the trip.

As I mentioned, I'm not gonna talk about our mode of transportation. That's a strict secret. I can at least say that it's going to be big, and will have room to house a couple dozen people inside it. I would LIKE those people to be familiar faces, and so I posted a sign in the Beefiary, asking if anybody would like to join.

As I was nailing the sign to the bulletin board (with an old, hard wedge of cheese - stupid weapon-esque hammers), a shadow fell over my shoulders.

"Hi, Dragomir."

I stiffened and turned. "Bora."

She bit her lip. "What brings you here at this time of day?"

I stepped back and pointed at the sign. It read as such:

'Looking for adventure? Excitement? Travel opportunities? Dangers in far off lands? Possible encounters with some guy who throws rocks? Really big rocks?

Dragomir needs YOU!

Some travel accommodations - food, water, transportation - will be provided. Please bring your own clothes, cash, and weapons. Especially the last one. You may die, but your chances are probably as good out there are they are here.

SIGN UP NOW!'

Bora squinted at the sheet. "It's… a bit dire, don'tcha think?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. I figure people should know the truth 'bout stuff like this. Bein' honest is important, you know."

"Yeah. I guess it is."

"Mmmm."

We stood in silence. A flashback to a pair of kisses, one used to help somebody escape, hung between us. If nothing else it reminded me of the other reason I'd come, and I reached down to a small satchel at my feet.

"What's that?" Bora asked, grasping for some reason to change the subject.

I reached into the satchel and pulled out an old, beaten, muddy straw hat. Bora cringed when she saw it, breathing in sharply.

I handed the hat to her and left. I don't think the real Eve has any interest in straw.

Now I wait and see if anybody's willing to join me on my crazy-ass trip. I hope I get a few people. Ed and Grylock, at the very least… we could probably use a cook, but I'm kinda hoping someone else will step up.

I guess I can cook.

If I have to.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Wanderer