The Journal of the Apprentice Athalbert Folksvarthrson (1)
Father took some convincing, of course, but that’s to be expected. He wanted another soldier or another watcher, but Alfric and Colfer are better suited and already on the road to the job. I think what finally sold him on the idea was when Colfer broke my arm a few months ago. I keep telling him I can’t even practice swords right, the doctor suits me. You’d think he’d want the most from my schooling anyway, what’s the point learning all of those letters if I’m just going to be sat in armor along the wall listening to old men talk about seeing dragons.
No, the doctor suits me. He’s smart and he’s better than a healer, he knows all sorts of things from out east, all sorts of things about poultices and leeches and bile and fluids. He knows about surgery too and when I put my bag down this morning in the little closet room he asked if I had a weak stomach. But I’ve been down all sorts of places, and I told him I was the one that always got cow bones for dice, things like that don’t bother me.
It’s fair dark in here, and the candles I brought from home are going to burn through quick before I even get a chance to study. The Doctor says I must be able to recite all of the humors and their effects on the body and their origins by tomorrow morning. When I have an apprentice I’ll never just shove him away in a closet like this.