night watchman at the camp, of Nomad camp
“I keep the fires lit from dusk till dawn so wolves do not take us. It is a thankless task, but I take the responsibility.”
Things Nicholas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Prime
I am too tired to see straight. I need someone, anyone, to look in on Daniel three times today. Just give him water and see he is still breathing. The captain gave me back-to-back watches again. I cannot lose another to this wagon's damp.
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush. The man kept rubbing his eyes and yawning in my face.
the second day of May, at Vespers
Simon came for the pitch-fee today and pocketed our groschen while we sink into the mud. I begged him for three yards of tarred canvas to patch the roof over Daniel's pallet. The whoreson told me to sleep under a tree if I dislike the moisture.
Easter Monday, at None
Joseph is tearing the camp apart looking for his mail coif for the muster. He thinks it walked off on its own legs. Meanwhile Andrew and John are tossing dice like they have silver to spare. By Saint Jude, this camp is full of fools.
the feast of Saint Gertrude, at Terce
It rains, and the drip through the split canvas never stops. Daniel is shivering with the exact same fever that took Anne. I swore on my spade I would not let him follow her into the ground, but he just sits in the dark and drinks.
I will bring a hare I trapped. A good broth might warm his blood.
Nota scribaeHe smelled of wet wool and woodsmoke.
the eve of Candlemas, at dawn
We buried poor Anne in the Troskowitz churchyard. The earth was still half-frozen, and I broke through it with my own spade. She was the gentle heart of that wagon. Now there is just mud, and Daniel weeping.
May the Lord grant her peace. She was a good woman.
My heart is buried with her in that frozen dirt.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I can check on him at Sext, Nicholas. Get some sleep.
Leave me be. I want to go to Anne.
By Saint Jude, you will drink the water John brings you and you will live, you old fool.