Saturday 5th July 1808

Dear Diary,
Dawn came in orange raiment, stained from below by a gelatinous band of pale green.
"Bloody 'ell!," she said, "This frock is ruined! It's all that mould on them fallen branches that I had to clamber over on the way up." It was then that she saw my blinking face peering from the tent. "Hello," she said, "I'm Dawn, Ned's cousin and I've brought you some sausages for breakfast." I smiled and looked past her at the dark bulk of the mountain that paled slowly until it was the same colour as the smoke from Ned's breakfast fire. The cold air was sweet. The early sunlight cast long shadows and the rearing pines of the woodland below, where I had to go later to collect wood, looked dark and foreboding.
"Do you like a nice sausage?" Dawn asked with a grin... I could see her father in her.
I nodded weakly and crawled out to face the day.
After breakfast Ned went up in search of sheep and I went down with Dawn, holding tightly onto her father's ass. She left me in the woodland and I began to gather wood for the fire. It was most difficult to find branches that were dry and not covered with green slime or mould. I dare not touch those for fear of ruining my embroidered gloves. After some hours I had collected a goodly pile and strapped them as best I could onto the ass and we set off back. We had not gone far when a large badger blundered out of a bush and the ass let out a snort of surprise. It reared up and one of it's front hooves struck my forehead a glancing blow and then it took off, scattering the fuel I had collected. In the wilderness and loneliness of that place I felt safe to curse the silly ass with words that do not readily come to my lips.
It took me some time to catch up with the stupid beast and then find more dry branches and strap them on. The fire was burning well when Ned returned later. He had already driven a number of sheep back down to the valley and was tired and hungry.
"What you done to your face?" He asked concerned.
It was only then I remembered being struck by the ass and lifting my hand to my face felt the dry, encrusted wound. Ned dipped a rag in a pan of water, steaming by the fire, and gently wiped my forehead as I told him what had occurred.
We passed a pleasant evening by the fire watching the flames dance, looking for shooting stars and Ned listening to me bemoaning my family.
"You're lucky, Mr Austen," said Ned, after a lull in the conversation, "to have a family like yours. Never take them for granted." He sniffed heavily, wiped his nose upon his sleeve and then stood up and went to the tent.
I winced at my thoughtlessness. How self-centered I can be.
Ned's family; Mother, Father, older sister and younger brother had all died two years ago of the smallpox.
I threw what was left of the tea in my mug into the flames and, as if I were a villain, the fire hissed at my shame.