A Monk’s Journal

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I write these words in case I do not survive.

My name is Anselme. I am a monk on pilgrimage in Vale Sangora. I stayed in an abbey near Maragir.

One night, soldiers came, sent by Brencis, the new knyaz of the valley. They started rounding everyone up, threatening them with death. Father Foulcard gave me a bag and told me to run.

The soldiers pursued. I was struck by an arrow.

I lost the hunters in Shrike’s Crag quarry. I’d heard bad stories about this place, but there was no other shelter.

I’ve dressed my wound, but I’m still bleeding. It’s getting colder.

I can’t run with the bag. I hid it in the back of the quarry, near a crane. If you find it, take it.

May God have mercy on all of us.