//------------------------------// // XIX: Fragments #2 // Story: Diary of a Young Griff // by Isuvyw //------------------------------// Undated entry, Matilda. Sven still lives, but not [for] long. Pastel has fallen into silence now. She refuses to say anything. Depression. Gabriel sits in one corner singing songs. Songs of grief. His northern dialect soothes me. [It] carries a flavor never tasted before. The upstairs collapsed. We moved below to the furnaces. Stinks of coal and dust here, as well as ash.  No more water. We [will] die of thirst anytime soon. I have named my griff Tristan. Sadness. [He was] born sad, and will die sad. *** Undated entry, Matilda. I dreamt. I saw a forest. Red and brown. It was cold, but not too cold. Autumn perhaps. I held Tristan in my claws. Lifted him high into the air. To taste the wind. To taste freedom. And then, slowly but surely, the winter came. The red assimilated into white. The brown disintegrated into ice and snow. Tristan was gone. And I was slowly going too. I didn’t feel so good. Then I woke up. Does this mean I will die soon? *** Undated entry, likely by Pastel. Sven is no more. He is cold. Lifeless. How I want to cry, but no tears spill. Matilda did. Silently. Gabriel and I kept silent. He told us to live on with his last breath. I had to put my ear against his mouth, because his speech was so weak. I told the rest [about] what he said.  A [dead] body lays next to us. Death lingers.  *** Undated entry, Gabriel. Matilda is slipping away. She is spooning her son to keep him warm, so she told me. She feels cold. Her claws are numb. Silence is the only noise here. Nothing but death[ly] silence. I might be the last to go. By then I would have stared into the eyes of creatures long gone. Once they were filled with life. Well, it is slowly going away. One is gone already. We would follow soon. To all who read this, know that these words were written by ones who once lived. This book, who we called Eva, was once held by living claws and hoofs. If you find our bodies here, please, for the sakes of your conscience, bury us in a hill that overlooks the sea. Our friend wanted to rest in such a place, and we would wish for that to be fulfilled, now not only for him, but for all of us. WE WHO ONCE WERE: Gabriel Matilda Tristan Sven Pastel