September 5th, 2033
Bagman has been out all morning checking on game traps and having a look about while I’ve spent most of the time sacked out, catching up on the sleep I’ve been missing over the past two months.
I never realized how beat up I was until I took a second to slow down.
I’d never noticed the constant throbbing of my feet, or the persistent soreness in my left leg, – and here I thought the rumbling in my stomach was from nerves, not hunger.
If I had a mirror I know I’d have a hard time recognizing myself these days. My hair has grown out every which way, and a crazy beard has sprouted and run amok. My clothes hang off me like those of an anorexic scarecrow in long forgotten corn field, and I don’t even want to think about what I must smell like since I can’t remember the last time I bathed.