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of Spookinite Valley

Est. Sept. 2012

Journal Entry 21 - November 20th, 1847

I am beginning to question the reasons our platoon lingers in this valley. The clouds sometimes appear to scrape the summits of the steep foothills and mountains. Some days the icy rain is merciless, pouring upon our camps and muddying the roads. Even the warmth of whiskey cannot goad what happiness remains in my soul to come forth. We have been here twenty days and I have yet to see the alleged highwaymen. Are these stories simply fiction? I am beginning to believe they are. And now here I am marching through this arbitrary misery. I hope soon this fruitless occupation ends, for I do not wish to be here by winter. Even so, we are already seeing the first flakes of snow fluttering down from the somber overcast.

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