Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
of our adventures.
Explore
Blaedy produced a handsome proper binding for my notebooks, which is either an honour or the first step toward having one’s private observations used as kindling. She then pronounced me famous with the casual confidence of someone who has never been chased out of Westfall for knowing too much.
When I mentioned the possibility, she offered me a place in her merry band. Generous of her. I told her I would bring ink, not bells. Arrowyy approved with such uncomplicated delight that I nearly believed the arrangement sensible.
Still, it is comforting to know there may be a road for a witness when his own village decides honesty has become inconvenient. The band will come apart at the seams eventually. Most bands do. Someone ought to have a clean pen when it happens.