25th Sun, 5th Astral Moon, 1572

These recent suns are a haze.
Grass, trees, wind… all pass us by. One foot before another, walking along without real destination.
He asks me where we’re going, I tell him ‘away’.

Gerik the Highlander, I believe I have not really examined him well. He is kind to me, kinder than most in these moons. We do not know one another either, perhaps this is why we are kind.
He is a child of Ala Mhigo, and I mistook him for a man of my youth. He could have not been there when I was, that I am sure, and regardless he tries to avoid such topics.
This man is beautiful, and I suppose if I was right of mind I would have attempted to bed him by now. Thick built, muscled, and yet he is so soft and gentle… it is odd, and I can not help but watch him now. I find myself wondering if his hands are hard and worked, before being overwhelmed by memories and turning my eyes away.

I long for that comfort, and it makes me writhe.

Gerik… the Highlander. He is an artist of sorts. He showed me his drawings, and they are so beautiful. While I have my words on this piece of parchment, he has his shapes, figures, almost alive unlike these dead syllables.
I drew for him, but it was pathetic. Embarrassing, such a thing, and I know not why I even agreed. Perhaps it was merely to connect with him, on some small basis, to feel like I was not utterly alone.

I need to stop grasping for something I can not hold.

… regardless, we’ve been traveling for suns now. I’ve taken him across most of La Noscea, to spots I have tucked myself away in before. I do not say much, afraid he will try to bond with me, and I lose another friend, kill another close to me.
I need to keep this impersonal. He means nothing to me.

So far, it is only the rare angered beast that bothers us. It seems they are riled by the moons descent, these creatures. They know something is wrong, as we do, yet there only comprehensive reaction is to become enraged.
Yet, are they so different from us? Are we not killing our kin, tossing aside our allies and screaming out in pain at the sky? The red moon of Allag has it’s grip tight over this land, so tight that it is now gasping for air. We’ll all merely suffocate.

The Garleans too are as enraged as the rest. Freely I see them roaming the hills, so near camps that people are cowering in fear, or keeping locked in the cities brimming with the frightened. Machines that fill the air with the awful smells I remember, they claw through the trees and the hills, leaving nothing but corpses in their wake. I’ve not stuck around long enough to watch those able to partake in battle with them… and I’ve no intention to either.

Bloody rivers… stained grass… my blade is so heavy and the air is reeking with the smell of rot and mold and burnt flesh and…

Focus…

The sky feels like it is pressing in to my own thoughts. Barely can I keep restrained, barely can I stop the swelling within my chest from exploding.
I want to fight… I want to kill… I can not keep gritting my teeth to stop it, I am losing all of my control.

I nearly took it out on Gerik last eve. Nearly crept in while he was sleeping and-
No… I can not allow such a thing.
I just want to SCREAM…
But then he will know something is wrong…
Please… just let the end come…

25th Sun, 5th Astral Moon, 1572