Journal I by Rerae | World Anvil

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Entry 17

Journal I

by Rerae W. Fracs

Well, it doesn't matter what rankle did now, or, it does but he's being punished for it, I think. That is, at least, what it felt like when some from the Fey bleed Wild or whatever this supposed mystical place is called. and as it turns out, it was not just rankle that had something to do with the destruction of most places. it was also some really buffed up elf thing made of bark and made trees moved. I'm not one that understands this magic Bizz, but I think in one of the books I read in Amborn, it's called "awaken something." well this is backwards, and I'm not wasting pages. it's like wasting words, of which I have had very few. this is all after our (literally) little Abby did some research on the guide, and the thinging, looping of the weave. we encountered a very strange, larger than most owl. Owlin? that almost sounds right. the guide showed up during our 'at home lock up' at someone else's place. I at least got to finish up my tapestry, and a new one is going to be worked on next. that fight is worth remembering after all. we were tasked with killing the giant tree thing terrorizing everything. well we did that, but our good lady elf friend is. . . well, not looking like she used too. I don't even want to write it on pages. even if we get paid or praises, it's not like we can save everyone. should I have even made those patchwork hearts? what doesn't make it any better is the fact that my witch, the one who cursed me, wants me back in Amborn, I think anyway. I can't put Ark, or Abby, or anyone in danger. I'll leave it to myself, they've all done enough for me, anymore of my troubles shouldn't be there problem. I trust them but it still hurts me thinking about what can go wrong. every part of me just want's to thrash and break but I cant do that, I wont do that. I wasn't helped out of my little hell hole just to make another where I am. alright, if this witch wants a fight, it's me, and her. I can do this. I will do this. but it still feels wrong, and I don't know why.

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    Entry number who gives a damn! (2-1 by the way. Turned out I do still care about keeping this written.)
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