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anxious

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School is a mad kind of a mess right now, and we’re dead in the thick of it. Llewellyn and me, we almost went to that party last night, though I had a better thought of it. It happens sometimes, those bad feelings, and when I listen to them, things turn out for the better for me. Same thing last night. People are dead, sport is all cancelled, it’s all a bloody mess and it’s Caerleon’s fault. Wood’s getting lashes, and now Bert’s prefect for St Hilda’s—can’t wait to hear about how responsible he is and I’m not, just good enough for sheep, thank you rightly—and everything’s cocked to hell. I just have a wicked bad feeling about everything and I don’t rightly ken what it is, only that something’s coming, something big, I think.

Heard from Jamie, still need to write him. Should have done that when I was in the damn infirmary the other day. Fucking Hawkwood. I can’t sleep at all now that I have to try to do it alone again and that cold bad feeling slides over me again, no matter how close I sit to the fire. I hate him. Lew makes me feel something like sane and now I can’t sleep with him, can’t go flying to get anything out, nothing. I don’t like it here. I don’t like feeling like I’m pulled down all the time and my very blood itches, sometimes. I miss the mountains and the cold clean rain and the way the water looks in the lochs and I miss the birdsongs and the calls of the sheep and my dog. I miss knowing where I am. I can’t feel things right here. Even when I was in Kernow and Cymry with Lew, I could feel things aright. Not here. Even though it’s Scotland, there’s something about this place. I just want to go home. Something more is coming and I want to get away from it.

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discontent

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I didn't realise people yelled this much. I know when Uncle Carmag's right hacked, he gets this glare about him and before I know it, I'm being ordered off to some awful set of chores to keep me busy until sundown. Usually cleaning down the stables by hand. He doesn't yell much, not unless he's in his cups something terrible, and that's not too awful. But this is madness, they way they argue and yell and all. Miss Mercy is nice to me, very nice, and I like Lew's sister, but I've always thought she had a kind look about her. His father, though, raises his voice and it's got this pitch that's like a hunting horn, raising hackles everywhere. And his mother! A nastier piece of business you never want to meet, though it's more than my hide's worth to ever say as much, despite my hide being not worth much at all.

I love being with Lew. I think I'd go just about anywhere, so long as he was there. But I don't like being around these people. I don't think I ken people well. I prefer the sheep and the mountain and the rain. I know that world. I don't think I ken his world. I don't think I belong in it. Wonder if he knows, or if it'll come to him yet when we go to that ball this weekend. I reckon it will eventually.

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bouncy

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Jamie's gone off to war. He left this morning. We had a right feast in his honour, and our Grandfather gave him his dirk to take into battle. Said it had been in the family since Sterling Bridge. Don't doubt it, neither. So now it's just wee Bertie and me. William went to war last year, but he's no the heir to the Clan, so it didn't merit Grandfather's dirk. Jamie looked pleased enough, I suspect. Didn't want to leave his girl behind, but that's the way of things. Don't rightly know what he's so worried about--no sane woman would forget him while he's gone away.

So now it's just me and Angus. Jamie had been up here, we went hunting. Uncle Carmag likes Jamie better than me, sometimes, but that's aright, we all like Jamie better than me. Just the way of things. He did say he was proud of me, so that's something. I reckon Uncle Carmag wishes the Fair Folk had taken me! Well, no changing the past, then.

Reckon it's time to go check the sheep. I like riding in the Highlands better than sitting about with books anyway, and I think Angus agrees with me. Good dog, Angus. It'll be great!