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This time, his head ached even more - Most likely because of the fact that this time, he hadnt drank some infused water, but instead - Beer. He was forced to drink it, that much he remembered. Oh how he hated beer, how he loathed any form of alcohol. The drunkards' drink, the one that clouded your mind, made you slip. Atleast he knew what time it was, though he didn’t know where he was for a moment - He woke up in a bale of hay, with thin strands of grass in his mouth, and dust on his face.

With yet another ''SHUNK!'' Rick's sword dug into the ground. He then went over the same process of lengthily putting a fire together, and lighting it. He fell down next to in the same manner, would begin sobbing sooner than he usually would.

Hello again, my diary. You are nothing but a simple, leather-bound book, and yet I cannot help but look to you for support. I would like to thank you in advance.

Nothing is simple. Everything that happens to me seems to always end in shock and pain.

While I told Garnold that I could not marry him because of my studies as a scholar, I agreed that we could remain friends...

...today, as I was conversing with a gentleman in the Prancing Pony, Garnold approached, stated a few words of not caring what anyone thinks of him, and then kissed me!