Timber Twenty-Fourth, 1054
Damn my foolishness! I'll pay for such childish bravado.
I went down to the river today in a foolhardy attempt to secure it from the fish. I shot bolt after bolt streaking down into the water, and bloodied fish bodies began to float to the surface, but I saw that more lay below my sightline.
And so, with utter thoughtlessness I stepped closer to the water's edge, presenting not only a better view of the massive fish, but also a closer target for them.
A horrifyingly large sturgeon leapt out of the water and sank its viciously sharp teeth into my right hand. I tried to get the beast off me but it simply shook its muscled body about, wringing the bones of my hand into splinters.
I finally managed to shake it off, but it took with it a fair-sized chunk of my skin with it, leaving my hand a bloody and oddly twisted mess. I shot the crossbow with my left hand, driving a thick bolt into the beast's flopping body with a satisfying thud. I then retreated back to the relative safety of my home, attempting to cradle my crushed hand without actually touching it, as ropes of fire would entwine themselves around my arm whenever I was careless and something prodded the raw and throbbing flesh.
It will be winter again soon, and I hope that I will be whole again by spring. But my desires may not correspond with those of the fates, and so I must steel myself for whatever hardships I can.
I have taken a few strips of cloth from my increasingly threadbare clothing, and made a small splint with a block of cedar. I will have to spend the season with a single hand, but as I look up at the structure I have managed to build in such short time with two hands, I believe that I can manage something as simple as surviving the winter with one hand truly "tied behind my back".