On the eve of Christmas Eve, our writing shall begin with the first line from the Little Drummer Boy: Come they told me
Max has very definitely caught himself a cold. We're doing everything we can for him and he's basically fine during the day. It's just the struggle of sleeping with a congested nose that's the main problem.
On the plus side temperatures were above zero today and I had the chance to play a couple games of Scrabble with my mom tonight. I won the first one by a narrow margin, and then... well, let me just say that she took her revenge in the second.
Come they told me. There is glory and fortune to be found at the end of our blades. More drink and food than I could ever imagine. I would have my pick of the finest women in the land.
They made it all sound so grand. Fascinating, isn't it, what can be accomplished through omission.
There was no talk of sleeping outdoors on rainy nights. No word of enemies who struck from unseen locations at unexpected hours, leaving nerves wrecked. I heard nothing about the open wounds, the death of comrades, the nightmares.
The endless nightmares.
Now, here I stand, in some godforsaken meadow, watching the sun rise above the horizon with only dead men and terrified horses for company. Not knowing what happened by the light of the moon. With no direction or destination to guide me from this place.
There was definitely no mention of this.