Good morning, journal.
I did not rest well. But it is the fault of no one but myself.
Last night I attended a gathering commemorating the birth of Urukha and her mate Pip. A great number of their Tribe were there, including the Regent. The boar, hunted the evening prior, was the central dish, and it was rather fine. Gifts were exchanged. I received several embraces, none of which were particularly welcomed but all of which were unavoidable.
As I am unaccustomed to this sort of festivity, the gifts I offered were rather paltry, but were graciously accepted. After the meal, there was a game of white elephants. It was a strange game where the participants could choose gifts or steal from others, depending upon their whim. I stole a red festival dress from Whiteclaw. This I brought home and showed to D.A., who seemed well pleased with it. It was a happy moment.
As the night lengthened, I thought of my own origin. I do not know the date on which I was born, and so have never marked it. I do, however, remember well the day that I was raised from death.
And that is not a day to celebrate.
No comments:
Post a Comment