First Journal – Horns

They have horns, the foul creatures do. They blow on them at their leisure and cause all the townsfolk to drop whatever they are doing to pick up arms and take position around the bridge. Then they do not attack, they do not leave so much as a sign that they had any intention of moving anywhere near the town, and the men and women of Trestlebridge waste most of their days preparing for imminent attacks that never seem to happen. No houses are rebuilt, to durable defences set up. Ned, myself, and the other lads have taken to repairing the roof of the smithy so that the good man may at least continue his work without being cumbered by the rain. It frustrates me that we cannot to the work properly due to lack of materials but the smith seems content enough with what we have achieved. Master Wheatley appears to be determined to have Miss Boskins buy our materials but she seems to have other things on her mind just for the moment. I hope she will give him a final answer one of these days so that we may move on. We are all restless, as we cannot find enough work to occupy our days with in this place and I most sincerely doubt the actual menace of attack as all our foes seem to be doing is blow on those blasted horns. I can only think of two things they might want to achieve with their noise: and these being either to tire us so much that we come out to shut them up, or to keep our attention focussed on a non-existent threat, with the real danger about to come from another direction entirely. Yet it is not appreciated for mere travellers to advice the locals on the best course of action, so I keep my thoughts my own and try to fill my days doing the work that the townsfolk cannot seem to find the time for, what with running around between their workshops and the bridge. With so many evenings spent in sombre company I cannot help but let my mind wander to the future that lies only just beyond the hills to the south. With the completion of my education I should expect grandpa to give me a position within the business, which should allow me to stay in town for longer amounts of time, warm most of the evenings, and well-fed. Yet I cannot help but wonder if I shall not miss the company of Master Wheatley and the lads, and of young Ned who has only recently become so much more openhearted towards us. As much as I’ve cursed the cold nights, the rain and the mud over the past six years, for some reason I cannot help but feel glum about the prospect of having to leave them behind me in exchange for a warm room in the house of my family. Still, perhaps it is the lack of sleep that makes my thoughts so dejected, and I shall rejoice at seeing my family again in a couple of months in the comfort of our home.