Master Ryutan rearranged the entire stock of alcohol, again, before I came down to attend to the evening inventory. He says it is not his doing, but I can smell the strange, papery scent that lingers on the things he touches, and it is all over the wine bottles I examined.

Then again, Spennig's troll seems enjoy joining in with his games; perhaps it was the both of them.

When I asked him, he smiled down at me from so high up, and brushed a thick-fingered hand to my shoulder. Then laughed when I flinched and stepped away.

This Amani dog of hers is even stranger to me, his emotions layered so thin that there are hundreds of contradictions that make me dizzy. I wish that he would control himself. At least his touch did not hurt quite as much as others' touches have.

Still. He makes me uncomfortable, like my skin is stretched too tight and my heart will collapse.

I do not think it is fear. Not from him nor me; I cannot smell it on either of us, yet I cannot pinpoint what it is, however. Something that sends my heart into that stutter and makes me fear it will tear its way out, and something that smells more delicious to me at times than anything else.

I do not know; I dislike not knowing.

I should study his kind. Perhaps if I understand trolls in general a little better, I will not feel so confused or strange.

I have noticed this feeling around many others, particularly when I see them in various states of undress. I wish I knew what these things meant. There is no one to ask.