The Journey's Second Day

My companion, Frostbreath, seems to harbor an… unfortunate habitual foolishess. Acting before thinking, without measure.
 
Today, he stabbed into a piece of fungus and angered a colony of curious little creatures that may otherwise have been friendly. Or at the very least not hostile. Running like that from them - it truly tires one out… I’ll have to find some better way to run, in the future. Surely the power afforded to me by my tome might be of use for that.
 
After running, I was able to temper the situation through reaching into the minds of the creatures and assuring them of our intention. Though it seemed only to make them want us out of their territory moreso than make them amicable. But that’s better than nothing.
 
Before all of that, he and I stumbled across the remains of a building, and I found a rather curious wand of sorts that can create tracks of colored light in the air. It proved somewhat useful already during our escape, as a distraction of sorts that seemed to wow the little fellows, which perhaps aided me in convincing them to let us escape.
 
We’re now bunkered down in a sort of improvised structure of sorts, a hut to rest in. A growing paranoia sinks into my bowels, though, as I lay down to rest and allow Frostbreath to watch over me. I’ve begun to fear that he does not legitimately value my life. After being assailed the night before, I’ve found myself uncertain. I could feel the life leaving my body before that damnable oaf even began to realize I was being preyed upon.
 
Does he still consider me a criminal, after I’ve shown myself to be as capable and helpful as I have been? He speaks to me amicably, but his occasional firmness appears to betray not quite distrust, but a lack of any care at all.
 
If only I could rest without sleeping, without closing my eyes…
 
But for now, I am forced to place trust in him. A habitual foolishness is contagious, I suppose.