From the Diary of Olaf the Bald, Day 3:
Still Nothing. The watchman last night, George the Yellow, swears he heard a ribbit just off the right side of our boat, but no one believes him. Well, I take that back. Soren the Hard-of-Hearing Scribe, Erik the Red, Omar the Bold and I believe him. Phil the Conceited might believe him if he wasn't so concerned with himself. Basically, our posse believes him. Everyone else has laughed at George the rest of the time.
It's so INTENSE on this ship. Everyone is being surly and grumpy with one another. It's what happens when your death hangs over you like a knife on a fraying rope. During lunch today, a huge fight including everyone erupted, simply because someone accidentally bumped another person's tray. Only two people died, and we suspect that it their own fault, so no super loss.
A feeling of despair hangs over the air. Something big is going to happen soon.
Very soon.
Olaf the BAAAAALD!
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