Dear Diary,
Ever since Sangwine’s band left Al’bert’s been impossible. He won’t talk about what happened with the human girl, and he talks to no one, except to sequester himself with the Wiz for “strategy meetings”. I think he’s just irritable because he finally met someone he couldn’t control.
Al’ice seems different, somehow. She used to shtreaten me with knives all the time. Now she just mopes around and is even vaguely polite. I don’t know how to take it. She’s beautiful, anyway, even when she mopes.
Steev keeps to himself, as bandaged up as he is. I think he’s imagining all the ways he can slaughter Derf, but it’s hard to tell with Steev.
I knew I should have stayed in cobbler school. Now I’m stuck in this glum party, with no one to talk to. We move on in the morning, Al’bert says, taking the southron route to the Desert of Sherds. Perhaps we’ll head them off on the way, but to my own shame, I hope not.
