XV: Samuel

One of the people I live with here is named Samuel Camantigue. His hair is cut short choppily, presumably the result of one or more self-performed haircuts. He is tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular build, but you would rarely notice his physical size. He is not an especially imposing man, you see, as enthusiastic as he can get about writing poetry. He says he used to garden, as well, but of course he cannot do so now that the Forest is here.

I wish I could help him. I know I cannot.