90 Summer 513
How nice of these barbarians to hunt down a pencil and paper from one of their 'stranger' merchants. They don't even use paper and pencil here! But I must write, or else run the risk of forgetting who I am amid these people. I want something left to commemorate what happened to me, even if no one might ever read it. I fear I am trapped here and will never see Mama again. I suppose for clarity sake, just in case these horrible people do not destroy this or lose this when I am gone and someone can read it that they will know. I am a prisoner, a captive, a..I don't know. Today is the first day that I have been within the city that these people call Endrykas. Up till now I have been forced to travel with a man from Syliras who joined them and helped them. I am not the only one but I do not want to know the other captives. I want to be left alone, to lick my wounds.
So I decided to write. There are some here who want to be here, others who are so catatonic with perhaps terror or grief that they have to be forced fed. What do these people want? I don't know. I wish I had studied better at school, writing is not easy for me but its necessary. Every day someone comes to take me through the city, pointing at things. Sometimes they only spoke Pavi -the language of these detestable people - other times they try to speak in Common. They seem to be trying to teach me where things were located in the city. Am I to be a slave? A servant? When I ask the only thing that is told to me is that Drykas need more Drykas....and that sounds ominous. One lady offered to braid my hair.
Normally I wouldn't mind, but I have noticed that Drykas women braid their hair almost to the last one of them. I will not braid my hair. Some try to act nice, others ignore us. Very few are outright cruel and mean and those might have been provoked by one of those who are too far gone in their grief to contain their emotions. All I know is this is bad. This is very bad.
How nice of these barbarians to hunt down a pencil and paper from one of their 'stranger' merchants. They don't even use paper and pencil here! But I must write, or else run the risk of forgetting who I am amid these people. I want something left to commemorate what happened to me, even if no one might ever read it. I fear I am trapped here and will never see Mama again. I suppose for clarity sake, just in case these horrible people do not destroy this or lose this when I am gone and someone can read it that they will know. I am a prisoner, a captive, a..I don't know. Today is the first day that I have been within the city that these people call Endrykas. Up till now I have been forced to travel with a man from Syliras who joined them and helped them. I am not the only one but I do not want to know the other captives. I want to be left alone, to lick my wounds.
So I decided to write. There are some here who want to be here, others who are so catatonic with perhaps terror or grief that they have to be forced fed. What do these people want? I don't know. I wish I had studied better at school, writing is not easy for me but its necessary. Every day someone comes to take me through the city, pointing at things. Sometimes they only spoke Pavi -the language of these detestable people - other times they try to speak in Common. They seem to be trying to teach me where things were located in the city. Am I to be a slave? A servant? When I ask the only thing that is told to me is that Drykas need more Drykas....and that sounds ominous. One lady offered to braid my hair.
Normally I wouldn't mind, but I have noticed that Drykas women braid their hair almost to the last one of them. I will not braid my hair. Some try to act nice, others ignore us. Very few are outright cruel and mean and those might have been provoked by one of those who are too far gone in their grief to contain their emotions. All I know is this is bad. This is very bad.