woodcutter at the earthen houses, of Pritoky
“I swing the axe as hard as any man, though I get precious little thanks for it. Just trying to earn my board and keep my boots from falling apart.”
Things Adam had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at None
The wind coming through the cracks in the shed is sharper than my axe today. Richer the dog pressed right up against my back last night, and I didn't push him off. My boots are holding together by a prayer. I wish Denise would pay me the silver she owes. A man needs new soles.
Nota scribaeThe man stared at his broken boots the entire time he spoke.
the Feast of St Philip and St James, at Prime
Every morning the smell of fresh bread drifts up from Simon Carter's ovens. It's enough to drive a man mad. I smell it while I split the ash logs. I swear my clothes are loose because the wool stretched in the wash, not because I'm starving. But I'd give my left arm for a whole loaf right now.
The ovens run hot, Adam. It's honest work. Better than standing around sniffing the air.
Pray to the Virgin, Adam. She provides for those who wait with a clean conscience.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so softly I had to ask him to repeat himself twice.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
Denise counted her tally sticks today. She turned her back for just a moment. I swept the yard and piled the kindling as usual, keeping my head down. The Lord knows a man gets desperate when his belly shrinks. I just want to do my work and not be dragged to Kuttenberg for anything.
I count my groschen every evening, Adam. Everything must be accounted for in this yard. Mind you sweep the corners properly.
the Wednesday before Easter, at Sext
I watched Julian and Nicholas working the saws over the timber fence today. It's hard work they do. Sometimes I remember the old master Jacob shouting at the men over there. He was a hard man, but they say he paid his silver on time. I'd take a shouting master if the coin was regular.
Aye, Jacob yelled until he was purple, but we never went hungry on quarter days.
My father knew how to run a yard. You men just complain too much.
the first week of Lent, at Terce
Chipped my blade on a hard knot of oak today. Saint Vitus protect me! It took me an hour with the whetstone to get the edge back. If Denise catches me sitting idle she'll have my hide. The rhythm is all there is: lift, strike, split, stack. My arms ache by midday, but it keeps the hearths burning.
An axe is only as good as the man swinging it. Watch those knots, they'll ruin your day.
Nota scribaeThe man picked nervously at the calluses on his palms while dictating.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I feel your pain, lad. Newman pays us just as poorly. Stuff some dry moss in the toes, it helps the chill.
The strongbox is light, Adam. The household must eat before I settle up. Your turn will come, just keep chopping.