Dear Journal,
Max is in a lot of pain. He's constantly groaning. I've even caught him crying once, though he claims that I was just seeing things. I wouldn't blame him were he crying.
All today I've done everything in my power to keep him alive. I've forgotten to eat, use the restroom, and otherwise take care of myself. I God damn swear that Max is gonna live. If he doesn't live... if he doesn't live... I'll... I'll be... Excuse me for a moment...
It's currently 1:25 AM. Technically, it's June 9th. I've just been too busy trying to take care of Max. I've given him the futon, I'm sleeping on the floor. Well, I WILL sleep on the floor.
He's stabilizing a bit more. By stabilizing, I mean I feel comfortable leaving him for a half hour and not worrying that he'll be deceased when I come back. His wounds were a lot worse than I thought. Tommorow — or later today I suppose — I'm going to go look for more medicinal supplies. We're running low. I hear him moan, or cry... I wish I could give him painkillers. I'm worried that they'll clash with our new pony biology though. I don't want him to take drugs he shouldn't.
God damnit, I'm not a doctor! Or, a vet! I don't know what to do!
At least he's getting better, to some degree.
-Leon
"If you're out there, we NEED supplies! Please, help us. We have a hurt man, he requires medical attention immediately. Please... someone... help us."