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<font face="papyrus">20th Day of Te'kal
If I had taken the time to properly map out the coordinates, Sam told me, we wouldn't have landed in the damn ocean. It's not my fault. While he was parading around camp putting on the good show for everybody, I was stuck getting all the supplies. I had to steal the books, break out his gear, get it all together.
On top of that, I had to dig through all these damn books I don't understand to find the right dispatch spell. It's his specialty, the old language. He knows I've only just started learning. If he'd make more of an effort to teach me...
I should've listened to Hlar.
Sam treats me more like a flunky than a family member, now that I think about it. He doesn't get it. There's a reason I'm the only one backing him up on this wild idea--a hell of a good reason they confiscated all his tools. Doesn't he remember?
I take every last ounce of shit he gives me because he's my brother, and he doesn't have anybody else. He's some kind of sick by now, something really off. Says he wants me to use the sending for his projects.
So here we are on some beach. My journal's still soaked. Writing this on a leaf from one of Sam's demonology books. Plucked one right out while he was busy blowing and sobbing about the others. They'll dry in no time. They're just books, anyway. I'm sitting here breathing, aren't I?
It's dark here, wherever this is. Sam's had his back to me for awhile and probably won't talk to me until the morning. I can wait all night.
I guess we're criminals now.</font>
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<font face="papyrus">23rd Day of Te'kal
This morning, Sam and I swapped: I returned his book page and he gave me an apology. It didn't sound entirely sincere, but I guess it's the best grade apology I can expect when the page he's gotten back is covered with ink.
I dropped it in the water, let the words run. He didn't ask what I'd written.
We left the beach yesterday and walked awhile. Sam taught me a few English phrases and how to keep my hat on. I hate it. Some kind of station came up--"Exactly," Sam'd said like he'd summoned it, bullshit--so we snuck on board a transport.
Right now my brother's making nice with some other sneaks in big coats, and I'm sitting here trying to look dense. Someone's singing behind me. There are crates everywhere.
Sam told me to watch the books but this lady's behind me breathing shit-stinking smoke on my back. I've got to write or I'm going to strangle her.
He's got a new book. The pages are all edged in gold, and one of the flat-headed guys palmed it to him like it was a secret.
I'm so sick of books.</font>
