Entries: The Journey's Fifth Day

Morning, Journey’s Fifth Day
 
I’ve been granted an interesting glimpse into another man’s life. The author of the tome? I am unsure. But their words hold meaning to me. They settle into my heart itself, sinking to the bottom. Not quite like bile stirring in one's guts, but like bitter medicine settling into a stomach.
 
Power demands responsibility. Responsibility demands sacrifice.
 
There were rather macabre implications in that text. Blood running black. Patchwork flesh. A fervor to live on.
 
If they sacrificed what I think they did, the enormity of that sacrifice is eye-opening. Believing in something enough to give up that much, even in a desperate fervor and with an ostensibly selfish aim is admirable. Commendable.
 
I am growing to understand that if I am to return, and become the hero I fancy myself becoming, I will have to make sacrifices of my own. Not theirs, those have already been made, but ones of my own.
 
What can I give to become what Bakwa needs? What do I have?
 
The sun rises, and yet I am not exhausted. Reading the tome has invigorated me. When I glimpse about, I can almost feel myself guided, layered with a feeling akin to the tome’s aching hunger.
 
Curious.
 
Night, Journey’s Fifth Day
[Scrawled briefly.]
Wendols are awful. They surrounded and assailed us while we traveled through and picked over an old, ruined settlement. What on earth sort of beast-men are they even meant to be? Their bones, their furs, perplex me at a glimpse.
 
Frostbreath and I were almost buried alive. Again due to his habitual foolishness. And mine own in following his ideas.
 
At least we got something out of it. Below-ground structure plans, some scrap metal.
 
I am. Tired. But Frostbreath is tired further. As relieving as sleep would be, I will hold watch, tonight.