-8th Rest-

That outburst I had at Tom seems to have backfired. When we stopped to rest, I attempted to collect accounts of people’s dreams, hoping to understand the nature of these strange visions and perhaps even uncover some underlying meaning. Those in the caravan, who weren’t part of the mercenary group, were cooperative enough. However, Sam’s men were a different story entirely.

It was painfully clear that some of the mercenaries were struggling with the same uneasy dreams as I was. The dark circles under their eyes and their sluggish demeanor betrayed their lack of sleep. But when I approached them, they clammed up, denying everything. "I don’t know what you're talking about," or "I’m not experiencing any dreams," they said—blatant lies. It was obvious, but no one would admit to it.

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I couldn’t help but connect their sudden refusal to cooperate with my earlier outburst. Everyone had witnessed me berate that unhuman filth, Tom, calling him all manner of names and slinging insults. It had left an impression, one I suspect turned the mercenaries against me. They’re sticking together, protecting one of their own, no matter how foolish. It seems my inability to hold my tongue may have cost me valuable insight into what’s happening to us out here.

Such a useless group, I wish I had pushed back harder on taking them with us.

However, the lack of cooperation in gathering dream accounts is now the least of my concerns. A more pressing issue has emerged, one that has me deeply unsettled. I hesitate to put it into writing just yet, as I’m hoping it will resolve itself. For now, I will refrain from commenting on it further, but if there are no signs of improvement by tomorrow, I’ll have no choice but to address the matter directly.