First Journal – Safety

Blessed is my good Master Wheatley for having taken the road to Trestlebridge so early in the year – we would not have made it even to the span across the river had we left Kingsfell but a day later. As it is, we have not lost anything excepting our cart of food supplies and my old diaries. Thankfully we made it to town with our lives and the ledgers, and not much harm done except to our pride. Our main concern is now that the road north will be unsafe with the bands of marauding orcs and there being no way of telling if the wood order will come through in time. Still, this is of no direct importance and for now we must turn our attention to the still outstanding orders. The town and its people have been gravely injured by the recent attacks and seem in much need of raw materials, though they themselves are more in a mind to order weaponry and suits of armour. I would be more at ease myself if they did take orders for our wood and stone – not merely for our own profit, but for theirs and their children’s. I write at night by the light of few candles and though I am not afeared of the night, it is the wailing and screeching I can hear from across the water that darkens my heart and my thoughts. Some of the townsfolk have gone missing in the past few days, and although we have seen some of the lumberjacks camped along the Greenway they do not account for all the missing people. Though none dare to speak their worst fears aloud, it is acknowledged in silence by all that the screams across the water may not necessarily be those of orcs. Young Ned is putting on a brave face but I can hear his breathing quicken every time the shrieks find their way across the town. If the townsfolk put but half their minds to repairing their defences during the day it would take some of the pressure off us in the night. There is no safety now excepting that wooden span on the northern side – and its wood is, frankly, either rotten or burnt on its respective sides of the river – and an old gate tower on the southern side that is not higher than three men at best and not thicker than two. My lack of sleep these past three nights, since we arrived in Trestlebridge – though it seems to have been so much longer – is causing me anxieties already. The screeching in the nights keeps waking me up at intervals, and, once awake, Ned’s sighing and turning seems so loud to my ears that I cannot put myself to rest again. It makes me ill-humoured in the day and the lack of decent food is not improving my moods either. I borrowed a lute off one of the townsmen earlier this evening but its music could not manage to lift our spirits and its melody seemed empty amid the charcoaled homes around the square. I hope Master Wheatley concludes his business sooner rather than later so that we may continue our journey south.