hired hand at the farm, of Vysoka
“I just want to do my work and keep my hounds fed. Sakra, a man cannot rest without someone yelling about some spilled feathers.”
Things Roger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Saw a man with a badge on the road today and hid in the barn. Richer is a good hound, sakra. If he got into those birds, it is because the neighbour's fence was rotten. I cannot pay the silver.
Nota scribaeThe boy kept clicking his tongue at his beasts while he spoke. It was highly vexing.
the second day of Easter week, at Compline
Hauling master John's grain since Prime and my arms are like lead. Nosewise caught three fat rats in the stores today. Best ratter in the district, not like those lazy cats.
the Thursday before Palm Sunday, at None
Sat by the watchhouse brazier to warm my bones. Hugh is still counting pennies under the table for his chainmail. I told him a man cannot drink iron, but he just scowled at me.
Keep your tongue behind your teeth and your hounds off my lap.
St Gregory's day, at Sext
Old Peter was shouting from his window about my dogs barking. The gout makes him sour. Thomas says the man is a stubborn ass anyway, but I just walked faster. Do not need more trouble.
Nota scribaeDictated in the lane. He stared at his boots the entire time.
the eve of Ash Wednesday, at Prime
Christ almighty, what a morning. Richer came back to the loft with blood on his jaws. The neighbour is screaming about his prize birds. The hound was just hungry, he did not know any better.
Hungry or not, he ruined my flock. You will pay for this, you bastard.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Get out of the hay and finish mending my gate, boy.
The bailiff will hear of it if I do not see my groschen by Sunday.