First Journal – Bodies

We all moved back into the town two days ago and found something else missing beside the townsfolk’s supplies and valuables – and this something actually the thing that we had dreaded to see. It pains me now to think that we came in with a small scouting party some four or five days ago and did not notice it, or, rather, the absence of it. There were no bodies. All stood in silence when they realised this, for a while; then came the anger, then the grief, the hysterics, and more anger. For they had none to bury, except for those who died of their wounds when we were hiding in the hills. And none dare to speak aloud their fears of where the bodies of the fallen had gone, or what had happened to them, for the very thought of it was too terrible to be spoken of. Young Mildred’s parents are still nowhere to be found, and I much doubt they shall be seen ever again. As terrible, and affecting our own group more, we have not found our Darren, and therefore cannot bury him. Cal has taken upon himself any work he could find, mainly occupying himself now with the chopping down of the trees just outside the southern gate, so that the wood may be used for repairs. He will not speak to us, or anyone, except for the exchange of information regarding the work. We have found the ledger and most of our documents, though many are soiled with ash to the point of illegibility and shall have to be copied or renewed. It is not a job that can be done at present for lack of paper and quills, so we will have to be especially careful when transporting them back to Breetown. Young Ned has found a pastime in consoling a girl his age and helping her parents rebuild their workshop. At least he has something to occupy his mind other than death and smoke. I have joined a group of men that have taken it upon themselves to remove those parts of the buildings that are too charred to carry weight anymore. It is heavy work and dirty, for we carry the blackened logs to the other end of the Trestlespan so that they may yet function to some small extent as a barricade. Yet though we work for most of the day I find I cannot sleep at night, even though I feel more tired these days than I have ever been. And weak, too, for although a small group of men and some women have ventured out into the hills again to shoot us some game, it is not enough to fill our bellies after all the heavy work that we do during the day. Home, my parents’ house, seems a faraway memory in this place, at this time. All I can see is the black and grey logs of burnt houses, all I can smell the charred wood. All I can think of is the bodies we did not find upon our return. And our Darren taken away, with his moustache and his black curls, and not being able to give him a burial, and trying not to think of where he is, or not is, anymore.