Red

April 5, 1349

Entry three. Spring has arrived. The winter's chill has fled and the late night downpours have begun, continued by misty mornings. Though I felt no more safety walking to the village than I did for the past month.

I've seen countless animal corpses walking along the road. Their bodies savagely torn asunder and the maroon blood soaked upon the dry leaves. I do my best to look away, but something about their death is an interest to me. The townsfolk gab about how the animal's deaths are similar to those of the human corpses the year earlier.

Deaths have become less frequent despite these conditions, considering the heavy amount of guardsman set out by King Edward. Also, the curfew created "for our protection" in the decree to bolster defenses. It is odd to me that such parameters were created. Usually the Royal Court cares not for such small matters.

My father has begun hunting. The market has been giving high pay for meats since the amount of fauna has risen after the plague. Visits to the butchery have become more frequent, and I see the boy almost twice a week.

His smile was no longer the same as it used to be like our short glances. It was much more forlorn and distant. I once passed his cottage on the way to town and saw him aggressively digging a hole with linen sheets covering two bodies. He dropped to his knees and began to sob and that was the last I saw before I pulled the hood of my cloak to cover my eyes from the melancholy scene.

I assumed the worst and assumed correctly. His mother and father were the last to die from the plague here. We exchange only monotone greetings.

Something about him is off. I'm not quite sure if it's favorable or fatal.