*Half of the page is stained with blood, but you parse what you can of it.* I haven't spoken a word out loud in fifteen days. The warmth of our hearth is a week out of reach, if that. Home ... soon. Sejm. My friend. When we arrived at Saldistead, no one was left. No one was there at all. Empty ... nothingness. Echoes and dust. We'd traveled weeks at that point with no signs of life. Our own rations dwindling. Sejm suggested we hunt, so we traveled eastward to the lake in search of anything. Miasma clung to the ... too thick to breathe. No sign of life. Nothing to eat. Before we turned back, Sejm heard something. He said it was Wurm, calling us toward the ... Sejm ran faster than ... I tried to follow. Frozen in place ... He started to transform. Shredded, blood ... The screaming ... He begged Wurm, but I don't think that was ... The transformation paused, leaving him half ... limbs, breaking off. Not from the cold. I stumbled toward the shore when the ice ... It cracked wide open. Maybe he was spared by the frozen waters ... The bubbles stopped. I'm most of the way home now. I don't know how to feel. I feel everything, but I wish to feel none of it.