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Weekly Contest #306
January 1, 1034 S.R. The frost is cold this winter. The ink in my pen has frozen, so I'm stuck using a pencil I got from Michael. The caravan is slowly but surely pushing on towards the sea. Eventually, we’ll see these desolate plains no more. I’ve heard that in the new world, it's warm all year long. The children drew pictures of the houses they wanted to build in their new home. The parents hung them up and now all of the carts are plastered with art. All day, Michael has been blubbering about the new world. He showed me a crudely drawn pi...
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