gamegrene.com

I still feel the dread every time I look down at my hand... the hand I now cover with my once proud tartan. I feel disgraced, stuck and struck with an object of ill desire. I wonder sometimes why my God has put me through this trial. I had always been faithful to you, my liege, and yet you leave me with this.

I have begun to feel sick and I can't help but think it's because of this accursed glove. I feel that it is slowly sucking the strength from me, for what reason I do not dare to guess. Writing helps clear my thoughts - whether it's for my own benefit, or for those who may trip across my journal one day.

I was with Laika, my dog, when she came upon a strange field of wheat and hay. Some of the stacks were so high I could not see the horizon behind them. I remember cursing as Laika ran into the rows, and I had to chide myself on not bringing my lead shepherd with me. I begrudgingly went after her, wincing at my jarring bones as I picked up speed.

I remember hearing Laika bark, and then the sound of barking all around me. I was confused at first, but thought nothing of it. I called out to Laika again, hearing her bark in response (of which now I remember thinking that it was too harsh to be hers, but who else would be out here?) off to the east behind one of the stacks. I raced behind it, only to see Laika sitting calmly next to this glove. The glove was of my least concern, I had seen a pool of blood near my dog, and dogs are my only friend.

Laika had begun to lick at the wound which I now saw was on her paw. She whimpered a little, and nudged at the glove with her nose.

I only wished that I had never laid my eyes on that infernal glove. So would my trauma be over. But alas, as the famous bard once said, "so it goes". In my foolishness, I picked the glove up and threw it with my might into the nearby stacks. I had assumed that the glove had somehow hurt my dog. Rational thought wasn't with me that day.

The rest of the day passed with no event. I gathered the crops as was usual and counted my stock. Everything had happened as on any other given day. That night, with the ceremonial tokens over my door glinting in the fading sunlight, I went to bed and slept fitfully.

I woke up the next morning to the astonishment of the glove sitting on my bureau. It looked the same as I had glimpsed when I had thrown it away the day before, except maybe a little less worn. A foolish thought had entered my head - that maybe it looked a little bit happy, but I quickly disregarded it. (How foolish! I scold myself for losing my brain that day!) How it had gotten there, or why it was there was as perplexing as could be. I picked it up (which was probably my second mistake) and carried it down with me to the river, hoping to be rid of it once and for all. I cannot describe my feelings of why I had so much malice toward the glove or why I wanted rid of it so much. It surely would have protected my hand better than the tattered cloth I used now.

The sun rose above me as I watched the glove drift downstream, and my day couldn't have been better. Laika was making a good student to my lead dog, and someday I hoped she would be his replacement.

Woe was upon me when I opened my eyes the next morning to feel a strange tightness on my hand. I looked down... to my horror, the glove, which had been immersed in water and carried downstream, had taken root on my hand!

Try as I might, I could not get the glove off. I could neither get a finger underneath to wrench it off, nor find the edge of my shears to be sharp enough. I know not of what I did next, but found that I had an immense headache.

And as of today, five nights after the incident, the glove is still in place. It has begun to look better with each succeeding day, shinier and less torn. In exchange, I have begun to feel weaker. I can only hope that on my journey to Gult, still 4 days away, the glove will vanish as quickly as it appeared. I fear the worse.