Dear Luna
Your position in my mind has elevated its self to mythic heights. You now dwell in the same place as our lord and savior, or the queen. Perhaps even higher. Like them, you give me strength, courage, and patience to face the difficulties of my life. I cannot imagine a world without you any more then I could imagine a planet cursed without the existence of air, or water. Perhaps to exist without you would be even worse, for death is preferable to living in a world that does not hold you magnificent perfection.
I am beginning to settle into existence as a recruit of the Legion. It seems that the majority of those weak chaps who shouldn't have signed up to begin with have been driven off, and so incessant running and exercises have slackened off slightly, though only slightly. We are now beginning to be taught the beginnings of the soldering art, marching, shooting, and strategy. The work is hard, but compared to the hellish experiences of the previous weeks it is practically enjoyable, if only because we are learning and being stimulated, rather then the mind numbing monotony of running. The average man takes for granted the amenity of something to focus his will upon, to work towards, to discover. Were it not for it not for you to keep me sane, the lack of purpose might have driven me over the brink.
I have gotten to know my fellow cabin mate's, or 'squad' quite well. We are, to be specific, second squad of the first company of the third battalion, which is made up of some where between five hundred, and six hundred men. John and Collin have become my closest of friends, and the three of us can rarely be seen apart. They are in the Legion for much the same reason as I, fleeing life as miners in the mines of their homes. John is the older of the two, by ten months, and is slightly bigger then Collin, though Collin is smarter than John. The two are jokers and were it not for their good sense of humor nearly all of us would have fallen deep into the pits of depression that has claimed so many others. Their antics are not without disadvantage though! Quite often we find ourselves suffering punishment (which can range from latrine duty, a miserable but survivable experience, to flogging, the details of which I will spare your delicate sensibilities. Heaven be praised we have not yet suffered the latter).
On one occasion we were being lectured in class by a certain sergeant on some arcane historical fact (most likely some battle or other). This sergeant is a large man, almost to the point of obesity (though I know from experience that he is almost pure muscle). He also has the most magnificent mustache I've ever seen, including the milliner over in Shropshire! Well, Collin had left to use the privy, and returned with a massive mock mustache attached to his face, made from pussy willows. Now the sergeant is also half deaf, and the door to the lecture hall opened behind his back. So, Collin entered carefully, and, behind the Sergeant, began to pace back and forth, mocking him. The men in the crowd had to stifle our laughter, but almost all began to sit up and watch intently, many nearly bursting with amusement. The sergeant suddenly spins around, smacking Collin on the head in a move of such claravoidance that almost all were convinced Collin had erred in some way, revealing his presence. However, the Sergeant looked up from Collin, splayed out on the floor, and says to the crowd 'When the man are paying attention in class, something can't be right!'.
The rest of my squad-mates are mostly capital fellows. There are two Londerners, Brian and Mark. Both are large, cheery blokes who joined up to escape the factories. Three more are from small villages around the country side, Patrick, Michael and Connor. Patrick and Michael are distant cousins, and their family apparently has a military tradition, though being younger brothers they were sent in at the bottom, unlike Patrick's older brother, who they claim is a captain. None of us believe them on this account, however. Lastly is a Scotsman named Finley and a suspicious, foreign seeming fellow named Isaac. Finley is large and brawny but mostly keeps to himself. We all like him well enough. Isaac though, is a different matter, for he is the slovenly fellow I told you about in my last letter. His laziness has been a bane to us all, and he is a disgusting person to live with, indeed the man seems to call dirt to him! Frequently we find ourselves yelling at him to bathe or we shall die of his oder!
The time given to us for our personal activities is drawing to a close my dear, and as such, so must my letter. I wait daily for your responses, and treasure them when they arrive.
Love
Johan B Hackworth
