woodcutter felling timber, of Horany
“I swing my axe from dawn till dusk for silver. I have no time for fools or stray dogs.”
Things Prokop had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the feast of Saint Urban, at Vespers
Twenty groschen more. Just twenty. If I keep meeting the master's heavy quotas, I will have my cart and horse before the winter and be free of this yard entirely. I checked the loose board again tonight to be sure it is safe. Nobody saw.
Nota scribaeHe lowered his voice to a harsh whisper for the last part, looking constantly over his shoulder.
the feast of Saint Mark, at Compline
By Saint Barbara, Gilbert is a blind fool. His stray mutt Amiable killed Peshek's hens, and now there is an eight groschen debt hanging over him and Vlasta. I would have drowned the cur myself in the brook and saved the silver.
Amiable is a good beast! Peshek should have watched his flock instead of sitting on his porch.
Eight groschen, you whoresons! Or I take it out of your hides with my cudgel!
the second day of Easter week, at None
Old Havel's joints are aching worse with the spring damp. Farmer Tuma will never pay for fresh thatch for his shed. I look at him and see what waiting and loyalty gets a man. Not me. I will work my hands to the bone before I end up rotting like that.
My bones are my own burden, Prokop. Mind your axe before you lose a toe.
Nota scribaeDictated impatiently whilst sharpening a heavy felling axe on a stone.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Joan sits on the bench weeping for Humphrey again. I respect the dead, but the living must still earn their daily bread. Her idleness just means more logs for me to split. The Kuttenberg furnaces will not wait for her tears to dry.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Prime
Alice lost her bone pin yesterday, the one her mother Yarka gave her, and the whole yard had to hear about it. Another useless distraction. I keep my head down and split the wood. A man has to earn his keep.
It is all I have left of my mother! You would not understand caring for anything but your own silver.
Nota scribaeThe man was covered in sawdust and sweat, even at this early hour.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
What loose board, lad? You are muttering to yourself in the yard again.
Nothing that concerns you, old man. Mind your own business.