Day Fifty-Five
Beast has come home without a meal again tonight. I look out the window, watch the white light scour the towering snow and broken branches. As fearful as I am of whether my father has survived the journey back to the village, I've acquired a worse fear. It would be worse if he died whilst trying to get back to me. If he comes now, he would not make it. Definitely not without Phillipe. Schrödinger's Cat says that until the box is opened, the cat is both alive and dead. That is my current predicament. Until I see my father again, alive or dead, I have no telling of which he may be. I sincerely hope he survived and stayed where it is safe.
