Penned in precise and evenly lined sentences, a blank page near the middle of a slightly scuffed, top-grain leather journal is newly inscribed. If one were to flip past the filled pages to the very beginning, one would find the first page titled with: Bernie Tweed, Bree-land followed by a series of odd symbols.
22 Thrimidge
Home, Bree-land
√ Clean up old burnt dung from smokers, comb and wax debris from yard
→ Remove all the doll furniture from inside the hives, looks clean otherwise but double check for damage
→ Window I had to break to get into my own house needs replacing. Yet to find a reputable glassblower.
← Still no sign of the caramel apple brew from Sanders. Serious infraction of loan terms. As soon as things are cleaned up this needs stern handling.
• Why does the house smell like a damned bear rubbed itself all over the place? See nothing missing though Miss Kitowyn were obviously making herself at home here. Did not recall her stinking like this? Rank musk cloud everywhere. Windows staying open tonight and probably for the next week. Thankfully no visitors expected.
≡ Got home in the morn. At first sight the place looked kept up, but then I noticed Miss Kitowyn were not one for cleaning after herself. Also stole my house key that I stashed behind the hidey brick on my porch. Suppose I should be happy my hives seem well enough, despite the ‘alterations’ Miss Kitowyn deemed necessary.
Pasted below his entry is a scrap of parchment, written in another hand:
Hello Mr Tweed,
I hope your trip was fun. I think I took pretty good care of your bee houses. I even decorated them for you. They were pretty empty before. Also, did you know you had a spare key just laying out in the open, behind one of the bricks on the side of your house? Not a good idea! Anyone could have just walked up and taken it. Lucky for you, I saw it first! No need to worry. See you soon!
-K
