I've been feeling out of sorts again. Only a recent development. It's the aftermath of that meeting, is what it is. Iron Protector Argoth seems an awfully nice fellow. He even made tea for us and served it in very beautiful cups. I was afraid that I might break it. But what he read from those parchment scraps not even warm tea could stave off. The icy dread came unto me, and it has lingered throughout the night.

The Fingers is what I privately call it. Shortened from the fingers of dread. Likely most everybody has felt them at some time or another, and I felt them creeping for me again yesterday. The shivery feeling starts from the crown of my head, and then seeps down in tingly prickles of foreboding. When I try to sleep, I can't. I choke upon my breath and feel as though something is sitting on my chest. I cannot eat. I am too queasy. I know I ought to eat. Because sooner or later, the lack of sustenance shall make me feel worse. But I can't quite stomach even the thought of breakfast just yet.

I had heard about the kidnappings and such. Kirana had told me about her own ordeal. When I had first returned, she had run to me and embraced me. I had been quite pleased - pleased at the enthusiasm of her greeting. I thought surely she had just missed me terribly, and was merely gladdened by the sight of me. Though, the more we spoke I came to realise; she had feared that I had been similarly taken. Her gladness was less of longing and more of worry. I am sorry to have worried her so. It had not been intentional.

I am unsure of who else has suffered such treatment. There was an old farmer fellow at the meeting last night, he said that the demons are praying on our light. That is what they seem to want. They're taking the Clerics. The lovely Miss Sibel was there too, seated in the chair at my side. She is a Cleric the same as I. I confess, that I find the thought of her stolen and afraid in some unnamed darkness to be deeply distressing to me. It is quite the same for Kirana. I looked for her face last night at the meeting, but she did not come. I do hope that our paths cross today. I want to know that she is well.

I am not strong enough to keep anyone safe. Might be that I am so inept, that I do not draw the attention of the demons. As far as Clerics go, I think I would make a poor war prize. But, that is a terrible conclusion, is it not? That I remain small enough not to draw notice. When really, I ought to be striving to make myself so large that I might be an aegis to others.

One cannot out-think the Fingers, this I already know. They can shift and scuttle, and they can slip back into your ear no matter how vehemently you shake your head and tell them otherwise. But, they can be outrun. They can be beaten, bested and battered. You can outswim them, climb them too. Just so long as one keeps moving, all will be well. Do not think. Just do. It is imperative that I keep moving.

The Benefits of Celebrating a One Year Anniversary with myself:
1. If I forget anniversary date, then there is nobody to be cross with but myself.
2. I don't have to share my celebratory picnic with anybody.
3. Vow of Purity? Obviously not that hard. I've managed it for a full year without even wilfully trying. (Natural talent, perhaps?)

The Cons of Celebrating a One Year Anniversary with oneself:
1. I could be writing a sappy, albeit braggy journal entry about my beloved and how wonderfully great they are. I'm writing this nonsense instead.
2. Ate whole picnic to myself. Feel quite sick. Also mingled pride/disgust that I managed such a feat. Don't quite know how to deal with this feeling, or where to put it.
3. Still haven't been kissed
4. Nobody loves me.
5. Existential Dread.
6. Bound to wind up one of those old fellows who wears itchy trousers, feeds the birds and smells faintly of elderberries.

Benefits of a Purity Vow
1. Removal of pressure.
2. Can focus more upon personal growth, study, training and serving.
3. Get to pick out a nice ring to make the vow.
4. I think in some ways it sounds to be a very peaceful way of life.
5. Do not need to commit to one person.
6. Free to cuddle whomever I like without further obligation.
7. Weeds out people who claim to be my friend, but actually only truly wish to take shocking liberties with my person.


Negatives of a Purity Vow
1. Suppose it is rather like cookies. If I banned myself from cookies forever, then likely I'd think of nothing else but cookies, and how I CAN'T have them. Which is ridiculous when you think of it on those terms. The occasional cookie never harmed anybody, I'm sure. I mean, it's only a biscuit for heaven's sake. I ought to be able to have a nibble whenever I so choose!? Why am I giving it such thought?! I'm sure other people don't fret so much. Maybe there really is something wrong with me??
2. Robbing myself of potential life experiences.
3. Will not cultivate the art of love and wooing. And if I do ever meet the mate of my soul, I'll be embarrassingly inept at the aforementioned and they might put me aside like I'm an old mitten.
4. Father will think I've lost my mind.
5. Other boys will laugh at me.

The Benefits of being Betrothed:
I'd be betrothed.
Somebody to cherish.
Eventually, may have opportunity to have children of my own.
Never been in love (would like to be in love).
Father will cease to suppose that I am defective.
Friend, confident, comfort.

The Disadvantages of being Betrothed:
Betrothed may reject me - catastrophic embarrassment (perhaps even death).
Potential broken heart.
May choose wrong betrothed- what if a better betrothed comes along in future? (unlikely). What if family disapprove of betrothed? (More likely)
Invest time into betrothed, only for it to come to naught.
Betrothed turns out to be secretly evil.
Turns out that I don't truly want to be betrothed at all? (See point.2 but reversed)

I will add more outcomes as I think of them.

We made flower crowns yesterturn - and each of us wore one because we're all Beauteous. I had told them, you see, about the tourneys we have back home, and how the victor hands out his crown to the prettiest maid.

I know lot's of pretty girls here in Valorn. Truth be told, I'd be hard pushed to decide who to bestow such a crown upon, should we ever have such a competition here. Really, it was only fair that we all each had one. I think I might love them all for the different verves and tempers they bring. My father says that you should be in love every day - and I think perhaps that I am too. I do feel as though I am in love today. I am in love with the world, and the season, and my friends. I am in love with the promises of what's to come.

My father will be hosting a Ball in a few turns. So I've got a job this turn of putting in an order for a suit with the tailor. I've already asked Miss Kirana to save me a dance. She did look very pretty in her crown of flowers. I think I'll ask a few others too. I am not the most accomplished dancer. But I don't mind that. There's still joy in movement all the same.

I am almost ready to advance again. And with that, I might be able to move on from the desert. Though, that is a thought for another day, I think. For now, my mind is full of summer, and I want for nothing more than to swim in warm lakes.

I am writing amongst rabbits. Getting here was a trial indeed. I can tell already that this level of training is going to be much harder earned than my last. The desert truly is a miserable place. Scorpion stings and the blazing 'rifter. I thought the stench of the poultry farm bad. But truly, tis nothing compared to rotted zombie entrails upon the burning sand. I feel the heat through the soles of my boots. And then, come night, the temperature plummets. My breath mists and my teeth chatter. So, there is even no balm to be found in the dark.

This night, I am going to sleep in Ryndal - seens as though I've made it here at last. Bathe, eat and sleep. All to go out and do it all again tomorrow. It would be easy to sit down and stop here. But I know I must push forwards. If I lie down, then it shall be harder to get back up. And I know myself well enough the dangers of lying down.

I've spoken with rather a few people today - that boy Liam, with the jazzy orange shirt. I am especially jealous of his beach escapades today. Lillya and Lavender - they are both firm friends of my father, and are practical aunties to me by now. True enough, Miss Lavender is always kissing my cheeks, and dubbing me her sweet boy. And, I've enjoyed the exceedingly good and easy company of Kirana.

Oh! And on my search for Epiphany, I wound up finding a Sibel. Though, as of yet, there seems to be no oracle nor prophecy about her. Rather, I strongly suspect that there is nothing between her ears but honeycomb, dandelion clocks, baby's breath and all other manner of sweet things. I've only known the Sibel for one afternoon, but already I feel quite queerly protective of her.

It has been a turn of two halves. It began with gathering up spools of spider silk, and ended with a raw throat. Before I happened upon Miss Kirana, I had not spoken to another single soul all turn. Some turns are like that, I find. Sometimes, they bleed over; one into the other. And before you know it, not a single word has passed from between your lips for a quarter cycle. I know I am like that, at least. I easily slip over the edges of notice and find myself lost. I think that perhaps I've been lonely for so long, that I now wear it as comfortably as a second skin.

But, I was done with my lot for the day. I had meant to go off and sit with the bos after the Crier called my name. I wound up sitting with Kirana instead. I told her about my search for my epiphany. Funny, I did not feel foolish for speaking it aloud. I know sometimes that I am quite fanciful. Naive, even. I cannot much fathom Miss Kirana's age by looking at her face. Outwardly, we might be of similar years. But inwardly, I feel that she is perhaps older than I. I don't know. Perhaps I am wrong. But it seems to me that there is a wisdom and a patience to her manner that I do not yet possess.

I'd met with a Cleric the other turn, who told me that she is often granted revelation when in nature. So, I had been trying that. Specifically, I had tried water first. Many problems can be solved by simply pouring on water (or so I've heard). I'd went off to the beach, south of Dundee, and waded out into the sea. I was not bestowed any such great epiphany - but suppose I did catch a glimpse of something. As I watched the waves come relentlessly in and lap the shore, they took up the sand and the shells and roiled them. And even though I was quite still, I was acutely struck that all around me was still very much in motion.

This I relayed to Miss Kirana. Though, likely not in such eloquence - my mouth is not all that adept when I must think on my feet. Though, I must've managed well enough, because she did hear me and catch my meaning: Time will wear us down either way, and the tide will not wait for us. Of that, she did agree. I am wasting time tarrying, I know that now. I really ought to choose soon. I ought to start choosing. I need to start forging my own path; consciously and deliberately.

Kirana had said that time had indeed swept her by. And now she was left with naught but memories; some so fragile that she dare not even speak them aloud. I have memories like that too. I did not realise that other's were harbouring them. The unspoken. Suppose there is a comfort in knowing, but a grave sadness too. For I would not wish for anybody to be as sad as I am, when I am in my woes.

But still, I did not evoke the past - and nor did Kirana. We prattled on about other things for a bit. Until she finally resolved to get me reading. She said that she will choose me a tome, and reward me with cookies for it's study. I never was one for books. I always preferred being out of doors. But even so, I enjoy the notion that she proposes, and look forwards to find what she has in mind for me.

In point of fact, I have been thinking that mayhaps I should strive for progress in all things. For heart, mind, body, home, profession, soul... Suppose I am at least making a spirited start towards some of those. Suppose when my cups are more adequately filled, I will know true contentment.

Back at home in our courtyard, a flower named Sweet William grows. Though, mother always called ours Sweet Nicholas, after me instead.

Whenever I think upon becoming a Cleric a lump of bile rises in my throat. I know that the feeling is wrong, and that I ought not be having it. But, it comes unto me all the same; whether I like it or not. I am not sure what the feeling is entirely. Suppose, it is something deeper than longing, and more festering than guilt. It tastes almost like betrayal; biter and acrid.

I do not understand this strange longing inside of me. But, when people ask me, I talk about animals. When I think of giving my care and tending, that is where my heart goes. To the bunnies and the bos. I already spend much of my time with the bos. I am alone throughout most of my days. But they are living things with hearts that beat and I feed them apples.

I spoke about it a little with Miss Kirana the other turn. I spoke about service and servitude, and how I hoped to be useful. I imagine that the swordplay and such shall be quite the same either way; Warrior or Cleric. I cannot decide, you see. I cannot decide between the two. I know which my father would prefer. But most everyone says that I ought to choose for myself. I wonder if Miss Kirana would deign to be my mentor, should I decide to follow the path of the Clergy. I suppose I ought to ask her.

I do not know any Warriors. At least, not off the top of my head. Suppose there is Lathai. But, I don't think I would like to trouble him. They say that I ought to follow my own path, and that means not following after my father's boot heels as well, I think. No. I do think I would prefer to do it alone. Miss Kirana says that the Warriors here provide their own sort of service. Tis their lot in life to throw themselves into the fray and defend those weaker. They can heal too, she said. They make salves.

It would be easy to be a warrior, I think. My body already knows how to do it. I've been doing it since I was old enough to be sent to the quartermaster. I squired to Lord Lucias from my twelfth nameday. I wonder what he would say, if he learnt I was contemplating giving it all up for a life of the cloth...

Actually, on second thought, I do believe I know exactly what he would say of me.

I can move on from the poultry farm now. Though I think my nose had gotten used to the decay, I will be glad to breathe fresher air again. Before I had grown accustomed, the smell had taken me back (as scents are so prone to do), to the duck egg-blue bedroom of my childhood home. The one with the long laced curtains and the footstool by the fire. I always wanted to be in there. Except for the times that I didn't.

Next, it will be either the desert or the Mills for my training. I am inclined to say the Mills. I'd rather stay away from the heat and the sand. And, I heard that there are zombies out there in the desert. I think I've had my fill of rot for now.

Though, I haven't moved on yet today. I've taken the turn off. I came to my father's house instead - though, he is not home. He'll be off somewhere with Lathai. That is my father's husband. He is only a little bit older than me. It seems cruel to write it like that - forgive me. I did not mean badly by it. I like Lathai well enough. The two of them have been rather happy with one another for a long while now.

I did not really come here to see him anyway. So it matters little that he is out. I came here to bathe, and to eat his food. I've had my bath already, and now I'm writing from his kitchen. He never minds that I come here. At least, I've never heard him complain of it. I've washed my shirt and left it to dry pegged out in the little garden, and stole his pyjamas in the meantime. And do you know, it is strange, but they feel tight on me. Especially about my shoulders. The fabric is cutting into my arms, in fact. Strange. I've been a bit taller than him for a while now, but suppose now I must be wider too.

I hope that my feet don't get any bigger, because I do like borrowing his shoes. If ever there were a party of something of the likes, I would always borrow his shoes. He never minds at all. On the contrary, I think he quite likes it. He likes choosing for me, and selecting other pins and such to match for my cuffs and lapels. And I like wearing it all, because I fancy they're imbued by magic. I've never been as easy or as charming as my father. But, when I wear his shoes, suppose I that I can pretend. They're like props which make the act easier. I could readily take to centre stage, if only I were wearing my father's shoes.

I get through most turns with his handkerchiefs. They're like little fetishes. Talismans. And I can steal them quite easily and shove them down the front of my breastplate, so that I can call upon his powers whenever I might need them.

But suppose now, it is quite startling to realise that I have gotten bigger than him. Maybe the magic will not work for much longer now? I think perhaps my days are numbered. I've heard it said before that all men are shadows of their fathers. Perhaps one turn, I will have a son and he will be mine. Perhaps now, it is high time that I found my own house, and ate from my own kitchen, rather than scavenging from his.

The trainer says that I ought to eat. But, I already know that. From back home, during the melees. They would pit me against knights of a similar weight. It is in the name of fair play, you see? Nobody wants to see a scrawny boy being dragged by a bruiser. It might make the spectators feel badly. It only stands to reason that their bloodsport should be fair.

The trainer says that I ought to eat. Because training expends energy, and without adequate food, there is no fuel to burn. The expenditure becomes negative. You put in, to get out. If I was not filled, then my body would begin eating itself to survive. And that would never do. My muscle was hard earned; hard won, and I ought to strive to keep it. I need to feed it so that it might grow. I am like a bos in the field; being sweetened for eating. Do you know, most often they kill and eat the young male calves before they can fully grow? It is because they're worthless. They cannot make babies or milk. So they kill them and eat them. They call it veal. I think they call it that because it is kinder than calling it what it is.

I ought to eat, so I do. Like a furnace needs fuel to burn, so do I. But, it seems as though no matter how stoked I may be, my hearth and my heart still lie cold. I eat because I ought to, and they measure my success in numbers gained. But not once do they seem to stop to think that mayhaps they should reach out and touch me. Or to open me up and look. If only they did, then they would see that I am only running on embers, and that my insides are cold.