Dawn of the Fourth Year

I've been here four years now and the transformation has been extraordinary, even by my own standards.
 
I miss my mother. Sometimes when I rise in the morning, I smell hints of greenery, the mints, the flowers, the potions she would create from them. The air would be filled with these calming, smoothing scents, and I feel at peace. I then wake up and realize I am at Ioth, far from home, far from the hunting grounds. She would always tell me that I am too young to carry such a burden, that I should be playing with other children and grow into my own. Yet when the Infernals took my father, they took my childhood as well. It isn't something that has bothered me very much. You can't really miss something you never had in the first place. But I don't hold resentment for the loss of innocence; I was named after death itself. Death is my motivator to live.
 
Death and knowledge.
 
My transfer to the Grove has provided the latter. My teachers saw my...enthusiasm at the fight club. I couldn't help it; fighting is what I do. But they were correct in assuming that my obsession with battle blinded me from my goals. So with my move to the Grove, I felt more peace. My desperate craving for action since attending Ioth now sated, I find myself returning to the basics, remembering an environment I never thought I'd see for a long time. Meeting Hilde has been a blessing, despite my concern for her conditioning. Her belief in universal transactions has troubled me, as I come from a background of mutual love, care, and respect, without a need nor desire for recompense. Her friendship with Cuan is something that hurts my heart; I don't know everything about their friendship, nor will I pry. Nevertheless, I can't help but think that Cuan is hiding more than it appears and I sense danger. But I cannot act without evidence, as I do not want to destroy my friendship with Hilde.
 
I admit that despite my success with family meals and dance lessons, I am disappointed that I was not able to settle my score with Athalor. His veneer is awaiting a true beatdown, but I would settle for giving him a noogie, like I did for my youngest brother. I see a lot of Brax in Athalor; a hunger for knowledge, a pompousness that is sometimes unearned, and yet a desire to be more than what he's become. Except my brother is less annoying about it. And isn't classist. If there is something redeemable about Athalor, I may just beat it out of him. One day.
 
Tonight, I think we'll cook some hearty stew. Hilde has been down lately and needs comfort. And Meagle and Aoife have been very responsive to my food, which warms my heart. It reminds me of how happy my brothers would be when I would bring out the huge pot to the table, their faces ready to gorge so they can continue to grow big and strong.
 
Hopefully we all can.