From the Journal of Aframos Longjourney, Pilgrim
With notes by Avos Torr, Scholar of Rheve Library
Skalday, Twenty-fifth Cycle, Seventh Year, 81st Turn
Ninety-fifth Day in the Trees
Our hands have been forced. We must fight, or we shall die.
While I was sleeping, Torne was on watch. Halfway through the night, he heard a terrible crash against the door. He shouted to rouse me, and looked to see what was happening.
He found a hole broken in the wood of the door. A moment later, there was another crash, and he saw a shard of bone break through the door in another place before falling down again.
I looked outside the window, and saw one of the creatures crouched at the foot of the tower. Another raced forward, landed on its back, and jumped up. A piece of bone on its arm had been shaped like an axe, and it swung it as it jumped, knocking into the door.
"Such strange and horrid little things, that try to fly, but have no wings," Torne said. "To stay their wrath, let's bar the path."
And so we pulled one of the beds from upstairs and pushed it across the door. And not a moment too soon, as their small holes soon became a large one.
It was a tense few minutes as Torne used my walking stick to knock them back from around the bed while I gathered more furniture to block the path.
They have stopped for the moment. We have nearly all of the furniture in the tower blocking the door and windows on the lower floor. However, I fear we've only bought ourselves a short breathing space as they plan their next move.