We lost six men yesterday.  I started keeping this journal so that there would be a record, just in case anyone needed to remember someday.  In case there were once again children taking history classes.  I would want them to know what happened.  I would want them to know that yesterday, Steve Fischoff died trying to defend my sister.  I would want them to remember that Mike Jost sacrificed himself to keep Alex alive.  I want them to know that Willis Mulder and Allan Dalton and Matthew Vark defended the left flank when the ambush hit.  I don’t want anyone to forget that Brandon Amirhault got hit from behind when he tried to help James Johnson get to his feet after being stabbed in the belly.  James died this morning, we couldn’t save him.  So I guess that’s really seven.  

            I am tired of this war.  Yesterday was a scouting mission. We were just looking for food.  We’ve been living in the forests, hiding in the mountains, for six years.  It’s not like we’re much of a threat to them anymore.  They hunt us like animals.  I’m tired of watching people die.  We won’t give up though, not so long as there’s even one of us still alive.  We can’t.  We’re the only people fighting for what’s right in the world.

            At first we did well.  In the first year, we won battles in every town.  Villagers were ready to rise up, and strike back at the lazy, fat soldiers that were living off their hard work.  It was easy, because the soldiers had gotten used to their soft lives.  They had never expected their sheep to become angry wolves.  We gained new troops in every town, and then we tried to attack the Citadel itself.  The real troops showed up that day.  Neal or Evan or somebody had sent word to all the best fighters, the ones who went on patrol in the Fringes, the battle-hardened soldiers.  These ones weren’t like the others.  The ones we fought before saw soldiery as a cushy job with lots of food.  The others were killers to the core.  They destroyed us.  For every one Citadel trooper we killed, I’m sure four or five farmers fell.  Since then we’ve been on the run.

            Summer is the worst.  In the winter they stay close to home, and leave us in the mountains.  Spring is kind of the same, with all the rain.  But in the summer, we need to find food to lay in a supply for the winter, and they can travel better and faster.  After all, they don’t have to use their horses for food.  I fully expect that there will be more casualties today, as Alex led a patrol out this morning.  I hope they bring back something good to eat.

            I’m glad Alex is with us.  He’s a great motivator and tactician, whenever we win a skirmish it’s because of his strategies and Genevieve’s refusal to give up.  I think he’s all that keeps her from going insane, too.  They’ve been lovers for a long time now, after she realized Neal wasn’t coming to help us.  That he was just as corrupt as the others.  Alex is good to her, and makes her happy.  Neal hadn’t done that since before their wedding.

            Genevieve has been sending out messengers lately, to the towns in the Fringe and the Outlands.  She knows the people there have no love for the Citadel, and hopes that perhaps they’ll join our cause.  We were on the run so long no one thought of going outside the area for help, but now we have a much safer base of operations in a well-hidden mountain valley.  It means that we have time to rest and plan, instead of just scrambling for survival.  We lived like animals for a long time, scavenging for food and water, nomads without a place to call our own.

            I hope the messengers come back soon.  I hope help comes.

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