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Written By Naomi

Jan. 28, 2018, 8:16 p.m.(1/20/1008 AR)

Met a princess yesterday at the training center. Pastel pink and soft-spoken, and I think I stuck my damned foot so far up my throat, I could write a treatise on the complex flavors of boot leather. I miss the Corsairs; being around people, not titles. Damned if I know who's a 'grace,' 'highness,' 'lord,' or damned pot-scrubber on sight.

Also why she trots around with a hawk is beyond me. City pigeon may be a treat for your average street-sweeper, but I can't imagine the nobility takes much satisfaction from hunting such a poor meal. Hawks belong in the mews. Unless, of course, it was just for appearances, in which case, I fear for the safety of the Grayson army, being led by such an idiot commander.

Had a fried pastry drizzled in honey yesterday, piping hot from the stand run by an old man and his gap-toothed grandson.

Give me that and a pigeon pie and I'm a happy woman.

I don't belong here. Dammit, Ford.

Damn.

Written By Naomi

Jan. 27, 2018, 8:47 p.m.(1/18/1008 AR)

Arrived in Arx today. Ford sent a ridiculous overgrown wagon and a fussy little man who almost cried when I didn't let him hand me into the carriage like some pampered princess.

Ridiculous.

Had some excellent chicken on a skewer from a street vendor, and fresh bread. You miss those things at sea, when it's fish, fish, and more fish.

Set up at the Kay. Why the hell do we decorate with so much white? If we ever have an intruder the bloodstains are going to be a bitch to wash out.

Speaking of intruders, I need to hire more House Guards. This house has more holes than a fisherman's net- two entrances and a balcony. Idiocy.

That chicken really was excellent.

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