Discarded Journal
We threw a surprise party for Ironfoot. How that idiot made it past 150 is a mystery, but it's cause for celebration either way. When he saw the fire-whiskey we'd been brewing, I swear he teared up. I'd only a cup of the stuff, but I can't feel my tongue anymore. The lunatic finished the barrel that night. I have no idea how he made it to his next shift, but Meerna claimed she needed him inside the wagon to 'guard inventory'. The Burrow Warden didn't say a word when the snores started. Layabout is lucky she's got a soft touch. I'd best get some sleep. Orders just came in for practice shovels and pickaxes for the younglings, and I've yet to harvest the Zurkhwood. Where does the time go?