lumberjack of camp Podseminsko, of The woodcutters' camps
“I break my back felling beech and pine so the lords have their timber. It is a miserable way to earn a crust, dragging logs that would make an ox weep.”
Things Havel had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Still no sign of Prokop, and we are stretching the salted fat thin. A man cannot fell pine on watery barley porridge. If Drslav wants his tally met, he should bring us meat.
Nota scribaeDictated loudly. The man gestured with two fingers so fiercely he nearly struck my inkwell.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Drslav rode the boundary today but would not step foot in the mud to see our blistered hands. He sits on his horse and cheats our tally marks. A tyrant, by Saint Peter.
the eve of Saint Gregory, at Prime
I found a hollow stump near the edge of the clearing. It is a good place to hide things from thieves who would sell a comrade to the magistrate for a loaf of bread.
What are you hiding in stumps, Havel? You have nothing worth stealing.
Nota scribaeHe lowered his voice to a whisper for this, looking over his shoulder.
the feast of Saint Blaise, at Vespers
My backup axe is gone from where I left it. By Saint Blaise, I know who took it. I saw Osbert splitting kindling with it this very morning. I want it back.
I borrowed it fairly! You are a madman.
Do not fight, I beg you. We need every hand to meet the quota.
Nota scribaeThe man was roaring like a wounded bear while I wrote.
Candlemas, at Sext
Young Simon is moving slowly today. The lad means well, and his mother Zlata made a fine broth, God rest her soul. But the winter damp is hard on him. I let him carry the smaller logs.
Thank you, Havel. The cold bites at me, but I will not fall behind.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
My belly has been rumbling since Easter, Havel. The porridge is naught but water.