The Stray

Interlude: Journaling

...So in the end, it seems it was just Pride being a pest. The Blackloch says he wasn't involved at all, but I ain't got a way to prove that. Knowin' what happened means the farmers can set traps, though, so if Pride or his boss wanna get cute, the townsfolk'll get adorable.

Timothy smirked despite himself as he set down his pencil. It prolly wasn't good witchin' to be plumb pleased at the thought of a fellow creature getting obliterated with a shotgun... but it was Pride of the Waters.

A witch's journal was a real personal thing. Sure, most every journal was, but a witch's personal tome was a huge deal. It was the same way with big fancy wizards and alchemists and whatnot. It was somethin' between a recipe and skill reference, an inheritance to your apprentice or children (ha! As if...) and, if you died in the field, a way to pass on what you learned and warn others of what did you in. More 'n one merc'd been saved by stumbling on a journal on some poor witch's body before they stumbled on, say, a Shambler, or a Nightgaunt, or a mad wizard.

Granny Johanna had written in hers all the time, but he'd never managed to read any of it. Her protections on it rendered the pages into weird, nonsensical swirls of ink and nonsense words even to his eyes. That was standard practice, of course. It wouldn't do to have some fool read your schemes til y' bit it, right? The protections would normally fade with the witch's life.

"Ha! No need to pry yet, kid. When I kick it, you'll get your chance." He remembered granny cackle at the thought. Timothy sighed, and snapped his journal shut in a whirl of pages.

That journal had burned away with her body.

Mandible popped from its sheathe to press gently against his cheek. He patted her flat gently. "I'm glad you're doing better, hun." Mandy rang softly, like it had been tapped with a tuning fork. "I know, hon, I know." He returned his attention to the journal.

...Today could have gone lots worse, though. I think I've turned into one of them critters that's so adapted to their habitat that they just die if ya remove 'em. I got caught with my pants down today, and not just with the lack of shadow to use.

Look, hunters kill. I've not had to worry about casting to subdue in a long time. But I gotta adapt. I'm a spider, so I should double down on my traps and trickery. It's less efficient than a clean kill, but... I don't want to kill another person.

And V'd be disappointed if I did. Timothy was surprised at just how much her opinion suddenly mattered to 'im.

Clang-lang-lang. Mandy rang like wedding bells. Timothy blushed.

"Not like that! Ugh, anyway." Giving Meri that magic lesson earlier's given me some new ideas. My magic's been stagnant for too long. As much as I've come to like appreciate the Ashbornes, I gotta step up my game. Or else, V'll be stuck protecting me until I leave

Until the forest's fixed. Frass, I have no idea what the Blackloch wants from me. He better have a hell of a plan, because I sure don't. Truth is, forests grow back, but I ain't smart enough to know how long it takes, especially when it's an ancient, magic forest like the Deepshadow.

I'm in way over my head. I don't know nothin' about a lot of things, and I'm really starting to feel it. But there's nothin' for it but to press on. At least V's safe trustworthy alright. "You cut that out!" Timothy scolded as the dagger kept on ringing. "You're such a jerk, Mandy."

Brrong. The dagger chuckled in thinglish. Still, she sobered up quick. Drring clang?

"Yeah, no, I'll write a blander one for the Cap'n." With a tap and a flick of magic, the book's protections fully kicked in, and the text scrambled before his eyes. Slowly, the mishmash of characters faded into nothingness.

Timothy tossed himself on the bed. "Wonder if tomorrow'll be a mess again?"

Ding-ding-ding.

Pshh. Timothy scoffed, but smirked dryly at Mandy. "Yeah, who'm I even kidding."