I feel tired, drained out. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. It’s like feeling that there’s more to discover about life, but I’m so tired and uninspired to search it out. It’s like lying down and sighing, which I did just before I decided to write to you about my thoughts. It’s just so dull, as dull as the copper metal which the boilers are made out from.

I don’t want to stop, to give up, but it’s becoming more difficult each day. Why?

I feel so insecure. I can’t describe this feeling as well. I just don’t know what to think. I just don’t know what went wrong.

I feel like crying, but no tears come, because I have no more tears to spend. I feel like losing all my control, and just grab the spare metal pipe and smash Miss Hawkrose’s skull with it.

But if I do it, what would Sven think of me? If I get blood on my claws, he would be disappointed. He’s too innocent. I don’t want him to suffer because of me, or my mistakes.

I have made too many mistakes. Maybe it was because of my worst mistake that night, that night so long ago.

Maybe that’s why I am like this. I am being punished for all the things I have done. And rightfully so. I’m just a wretched griff. Sven doesn’t deserve a sinner to be his sister. He deserves better.

What has she done that she is tormented by it? It must be her dark remembrance, but what? I wish to comfort her, and tell her its alright, that I’m still her little brother no matter what. But she has been silent and far away, and she doesn’t want to talk. She had a sad face today, and an oppressed gait.

I will NOT allow it. I mean it. It matters not that I don’t remember my mother’s night-songs. I will be here, next to her, and I will keep loving her, and giving her hugs, so that the juvadrekka will know that she is not alone. I won’t allow Matilda to be alone. She must’ve been alone for a long time. But no more. Because I am here.

Hej Eva. I haven’t skrifedd to you about good things lately, so I’ll just speak to you like how Matilda speaks to you.

She was quiet today, and did not speak much. I tried to give her some nice hugs, but I feel that she wasn’t able to accept it as much like before. So I thought to not trouble her. She needs some time to calm down and rest. I feel saddened for her.

I have been learning new words from Matilda’s skrifan, and try to remember them, so that my skrif to you becomes more and more satisfying, or “interesting” as she likes to say.

I read a story book called Rown and Meagis. It is a very sad story, because this Rown and his wife die at the end, and the way they die is very gory. Matilda let me read it. She says that griffon writers like to write dramatic things. Well, I don’t think a story needs so much blood to be dramatic.

Back in Snjorjord, we like to tell stories. We have a story about a giant fish-pony who fell in love with a dragoness, and then tried to follow her wherever she went, but then died when he stayed too long out of the water. Another story is about a fireplace who turned into a pony, but then burned down everything that his hoofs touched.

At other times, we like to sing songs. Some of our songs are slow and sad, but most of the time we like to sing fast lively songs that poke fun at others. One time, I remember one pony of my village singing a song about how useful skittan is – I think one part of the song says that “you can cook with skit, farm with skit, heal with skit, and even get revenge with skit.” It’s quite fun, je?

A lullaby came to my remembrance when I was dreaming yesternight. It must be one of those ones that mother sang to me, so long ago. I don’t know why, or how, this lullaby came to my remembrance, but I’m glad it did. Here it is,

A, júva frega, eil ljotan lytrn,
vettir júvadrekkit fjera.
Ardenska, júva flytir, eil segend kilit rímma Sekjúndur.
Hagar eil skeigu in júvadrekka kilit rímma,
han in mitr fálga eil lytra.

It is beautiful, is it not? I can now sing this to Matilda, so that the juvadrekka will stop tormenting her.

I am tired now. It was nice to speak with you about my self, because now you know me much more. Trogg juva, Eva.

Diary of a Young Griff

by Isuvyw

IX: Entries 33 to 35