We have just two weeks until we leave for the Orcan war.
The night is young. The cleaved moon is showering its tender light down on the world— casting a looming shadow of K's house on the courtyard.
I'm outside, in the courtyard. I just finished downing a whole roasted Pirantroph.
It's funny. Hunger doesn't drive me insane anymore.
And it's not like I don't feel the hunger. But, it's more like I can control it, like I can live with it now, and I can ignore it until when I feel like attending to it.
K was right. Hunger can be tamed. And that's exactly what I've done.
The fire from the firewood which I used to roast the Pirantroph is still burning, and I'm sitting near it, feeling the warmth.
K's not at home right now. He left home early this morning to discuss the war stuff with Gislow, the Mercenary Guildmaster. He hasn't returned since then.
