Freitag der 20. März, 1220
Tonight was the first night of our travels. I packed what I felt necessary, and little more. My Bible, my journal, a pen and ink, and my father's hammer. Voradore granted me the use of a tent made of thick material, which I may have to use, should I be unable to find shelter outdoors.
Our voyage began as a boat trip across the Channel to France. Back in close quarters again, it took little time for Katherine and I to begin threatening one another's liv- existences. We were prevented from following through on any such threats, partially by the presence of Abarath, and partially by the end of our aquatic leg of the journey.
Abarath seems less than impressed with Katherine's leadership skills. I have no doubt he would have challenged her for the position by now had Voradore not forbidden it to him. However Abarath may feel about it, Voradore is a mighty force, and the same force that stills my tongue time and again has proven sufficient to still the wild soul of Abarath as well.
Our journey was mostly uneventful, save for the bandits who wished to rob us. Katherine responded to them with a callus disregard for the sanctity of life, a fool's ignorance of the value of stealth and secrecy, and a truly mighty example of her ideal of brawn before brain. I preferred to simply dominate one of them, and force him to find shelter for us, to save us the trouble of hunting for our own come the first fingers of dawn. While that didn't work as well as I would have liked, it provided us with a shack that was capable of sheltering us from the sun's rays. Katherine and Abarath both preferred to go on, however. As I write this, Katherine and I are attempting to make ourselves comfortable in a dank cave we acquired when Katherine slew the crazed old hermit who lived here. Abarath displayed his convenient ability to simply sink into the earth as though it were water, and avoid the sun that way.
My nightmares have been growing more coherent, or perhaps less, depending on one's perspective. Nora is becoming more their focus, and I see the events of her final death more clearly than before, as if I were there. Am I losing my mind? I fear I may come out of this more mad than a Malkavian, presuming I come out of it at all.
Udo der Tote