3.2

May 9

We continue our travel. Marketa and Hannah continue their silence. However I feel there is a conversation that is being had without me. They see a deer, or a flower, or a rabbit, and look at each other, and I know that there is meaning in the look. Once Hannah reached out as if to touch Marketa's arm, but stopped herself. Marketa noticed but did not say anything. This too was a conversation.

There are so many ways in which things can not be said.

May 10

We nearly ran out of rye bread. Marketa spoke at last to say we should ration the remainder, but Hannah said, "It is no matter." And she departed from us, her steps long and certain.

Some time later she came back bearing a rabbit. She skinned and dressed it, working quickly with her knife, and Marketa watched her closely and strangely.

We ate well, and the sound of the fire was swallowed by the forest.

May 11

We have come to a stop.

Marketa said that we are close. She said that divination would show us where to go next.

Then she turned to me.

"You remember what I showed you?" she said.

And I saw worry in her eyes.

She wanted to know that I will be strong when she leaves me behind. That I will remember what she has taught me.

"Of course," I said. "But do not watch me."

I sit here with the bones ready to cast and the fire before me. I know that I will need to make four casts. I know that for each cast, I must write out a set of runes as my heart instructs - a foundation from which to assemble all the bones for each cast.

It is as my grandmother always says. The darkest marks left on the bones are the ones kissed by the fire first. After that, each scorch becomes lighter.

This is why we carry the wounds of youth for so long.

Enough documenting. Enough hiding behind words. I must set these things aside, and make my first cast.

[insert runes]