Entries: The Journey's Sixth Day

[Scrawled wildly]
 
He wouldn’t run, he didn’t listen to me. Why wouldn’t he listen to me?
 
It happened all at once. He barely had time to cry out.
 
Those terrible things. Insects, bigger than they should be. They tore into him.
 
They ate him alive. And I didn’t act. I couldn’t act. I got myself to safety.
 
I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.
 
If I write that to myself enough, I’ll believe it. Maybe.
 
I need to sleep. I need to not be awake.
 
Journey’s Sixth Day, Evening
 
[Written neatly and evenly.]
 
Gut has perished. There is no point in calling him Frostbreath now. That will never be his name. “Frostbreath Whiteguard” is now an impossible eventuality. That name fell when Gut fell.
 
I do not know who to blame. Myself for absconding so immediately, or him for refusing to do so at all.
 
There is no purpose in blame. No purpose in pondering.
 
Power demands responsibility, responsibility demands sacrifice.
 
He died, and I lived because of it. He made his choice, whether it had been his intention or not, and I will honor his sacrifice. I will make it back to Bakwa. I will honor his sacrifice. His death will mean something.
 
It has to mean something..
 
When he fell, all of the scrap we’d collected from that ruined settlement fell with him. Fortunately I’ve found more items of interest to return to Bakwa with.
 
I am secured high in a tower we’d found and had decided to explore. Shortly into exploring it, though, we were set upon by terrible creatures. Like insects, but far too enormous.
 
They set upon us, and now Gut is dead, and I live. Secure high up in this place. For now.
My head is still racing. I find it difficult to think.
 
I’ve found things of interest to return with. I’ll return with them. On my own.
 
Somehow.