woodworker at vrchlicko sawmill, of The woodcutters' camps
“I hauled the heaviest timber, but now I choke on soot while my brothers play lord.”
Things Standa Fuller had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St John Before the Latin Gate, at None
Caught Jezhek sneaking around the far strip again. Father looked right at me and gave that land to me, not him! He was standing by the door, the cheating whoreson. Lawrence won't back me, just wants it for his own lads.
Nota scribaeThe man crossed his arms and spat on the floor. I made him wipe it up.
the Wednesday after Easter, at Vespers
My chest is ruined from these kilns. Coughing up black soot all morning. I have the shoulders of an ox, I should be dealing with the Kuttenberg clerks, not tending fires with the boys. It's a bloody cheat.
The smoke isn't that bad, uncle. You just stand in the wind.
You're young, boy. Wait till it rots your lungs out.
the Monday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
They say the bread in town is dearer again because of those Cumans on the roads. Lawrence grumbles about Michael the clerk squeezing our prices. If I dealt with the royal works, we'd have groschen to spare.
Michael just laughs at us, uncle. We need to cut more timber.
the feast of St Gertrude, at Terce
Chopped birch in the mist up on my ridge today. Felt good to use an axe, proper work for a man. Then Lawrence dragged me down to the yard to babysit Hynek and Joseph. Bloody waste of my strength.
I don't need sitting, I know the burn piles better than you!
Just do the work, Standa. Peace in the yard is worth the soot.
Nota scribaeHe spoke in a terrible whine for a man of his size.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
Pottage again for supper, tasting of ash. I sat apart from the rest of them. Let them bicker over missing iron and who owes who for Lent. I just want what's rightfully mine so I can leave this wretched camp.
If you leave, who's going to whine about the smoke all evening?
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You're deaf as a stump, Standa. He promised it to me, plain as day.
Enough about the bloody strip, both of you. Get back to the kilns.