Archiebald

Dear Diary,

Father has not died yet. However, his eyes are as yellow as Dandelions. Usually that tells of a close proximity of death. I dare not to be too hopeful however, it seems he has made a habit of cheating death. 

And then....There is a man who seems to be oddly fond of my company. It is rare someone follows me home to see to my safety. I suppose he is tolerable compared to most men. Although I am young when he is old. I have a symmetric nose when he has a crooked one. I speak my mind when his voice is weak. I am healthy when he is ill.

After sitting down in one of the side rooms of the Pony.

I treated a smith's back with gray leeches today. He promised to return because our prices for leeching are so low.

The patient had also been hung thrice, for which his throat had collapsed and stolen half of his voice. He allowed me to study his neck: No abnormalities aside for the collapsed structure. I fear no peppermint oils in this world can save his hoarse voice.

Today I finally managed to catch Archiebald and trade the vest I had made him for the cutlery we sorely needed. He seemed happy with what I had made and now the keep has some more cutlery to spare and that of fine craft, we will not have to wait for another to finish eating before we can eat. It shall be a great relief.