//------------------------------// // XI: Entries 39 to 42 // Story: Diary of a Young Griff // by Isuvyw //------------------------------// 13th of Eastermonth Matilda is still sick. She has a very warm head, and a harsh voice. She laid in bed all day, and I did today’s work by myself. That is why my skrifan is slow and flickering, like the waves of the whale-road. My bed is rough, as rough as Matilda’s voice. It is a sheet of hay, and laid with all kinds of leaves. We have enough leaves to make the bed soft. But the floor is hard. It would take some time to be familiar with the hard floor. We had warm houses in Snjorjord. Our beds were soft, as soft as the snow that covered our door. I miss that. I miss my little figures that mother helped me make. They used to sit on my bed. One was a pony. Another was a bird. Another was a little fish. It might sound funny, but some memories have come back to me as of late. Of my time in my land. I wish to return to it someday. To the snow, to the very cold lakes, to the roasted fish. To my parents. I hope that wish comes true. Juva Eva. *** 14th of Eastermonth Matilda is getting better, that she is able to work again. But she is sad, so very sad. She didn’t talk a lot today, and whenever she spoke, her voice was as grim as a grave. Lifrn, lytrn, eil arljastrn. I cannot stop worrying about her. She means so much to me – as a sister and as a friend. I don’t want her to be like this, I want her to be happy. But she is not. Something must have struck her. I don’t know what, and I don’t know when, but I want to help. I want her to be free of this drekka, whatever this dark remembrance is that is tormenting her. She must feel so alone. If the monster will not stop tormenting her, then it must torment me as well, so that Matilda would not have to be alone in her torment. I dare to suffer juvadrekka, if it means Matilda will not suffer alone. I am myself tired. My limbs ache, but my heart aches more. I don’t know what to do Eva. I guess I will go sleep now. *** 19th of Eastermonth Hej Eva. It is a few days from when I spoke with you. I believe you must miss me and Matilda, je? Matilda is not well. She is not sick anymore, but she does not speak as much now. All she does is read her books and sleep. She sometimes cries in her sleep. She is not telling me something. She is hiding. Hiding behind fear maybe. I want to tell her that she does not have to fear me, or be afraid to tell me whatever troubles her, but she turns me away. What is happening? I don’t know what to do. She looks so miserable. Whatever she is being tormented with, it is causing her to be miserable. She also does not eat as much. I am worried, much worried. I don’t know what else to do. The pipe continues to be playing around. Water flows through one, but not the other. Strange. I have to ask miss Hawkrose, even if I really don’t like her, truthfully. I started reading another book. It is called “Parba” “Parabolae,” and it is quite old and worn. It is full of interesting sayings, like the sayings we have back in Snjorjord. See one of its sayings, “Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it.” Next to it is this strange language. I don’t know how to read it or understand it, but I will try and imitate it to you, because the skrifan is so strange, “Noli qr prohibere benefacere euw eum qui potest. Si vales, et ipes ipse benefac.” I wonder what this means. The skrifan looks joined together, and it is quite hard to read. Whoever wrote in this strange language also likes to skrif with big loops and ribbons on the letters. Maybe it’s to make the skrifan more beautiful. I think the meaning of this saying is beautiful enough. I hope my imitation was as true as possible. It is quite late. I must go to sleep now. Maybe tomorrow I could tell you a saying from Snjorjord that is like this naksprok Ekvestrit. Goodnight, Eva. *** 25th of Eastermonth Hello Eabha. I am getting better, but I feel tired. I will write in Griffish. I have been dying to just write to you again, but I just feel horrible stupid tired. Very tired. Sven also has not been writing to you for some days, because we have a newcomer to the boiler room. He’s named Gravel. He’s a griffon, just like me, brown with a whitish belly and green eyes. He was thrown in here by – you might have guessed it – miss Hawkrose. I don’t know what he did, but he doesn’t want to say. Hopefully we could make friends together. Maybe even have another one whom you can talk to. I see Sven has been talking about me. He’s been worried. I’m glad he still cares for me, even though I’m a stupid griff. I feel tired just by writing to you already. I need to rest. Goodnight, Eabha.