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p. 37
6th of Rainop, 859
I found a cat locked in a cage being harassed by some kids; they left after a while, after which I let him out. The poor thing had a broken leg. I did as much as I could, but he probably can't run for a while.
Those bastards didn't even consider him a living thing, just an object for their sick desires. Nothing should be treated like that—not animals, not human beings, ekk mikk.
Working eom en rent knet isn't eom slalig eom jeg bethi dath'd ath, dokk jeg tokir hathorth eth igur kvannr kloka arn mikk jikablith jeg'm att object rir tharas yngrjust. Jeg ynstar disgusted, oz jeg gotek ynstar jikablith en uri
I want to get out of this line of business. I'm sure I can find better jobs out there—something that doesn't make me feel like a yngrjust toy.
(Some parts are left in dwarvish; it seems the writer didn't wish to translate those parts.)
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