Venus writes her thoughts
Thursday, 31 March 2005
In terrible shaky handwriting that appears almost to have been scratched onto the page, in places barely legible.
So...so...tired...
I did something I have not done for a long time today. I operated on a man to remove something evil within his body, as I did back in the Duke's Army. It... it has been a long time, but I did it. I saved Dirk's life.
He had been scratched, clawed by a dragon with venomous spurs. He asked me to examine the scars on his back. I knew from the moment I touched him that the closed wounds were full of venom, eating into him like acid. All the arts of Cleric's grace I have learned here in Valorn were of no use to me faced with such a thing as this, so I was forced to go back to the old way. The knife. I could only give him poppy and valerian infusions to dull the pain, but he endured the pain of the lancing like none I ever saw. I was terrified - I had never done such a thing as this. I was once used to probing for arrows and fragments of catapult shot, but something like this - pockets of venom sitting within the flesh eating inward - I had no experience of such a thing. But as I touched Dirk's flesh I could feel this thing sitting in his body, and somehow I felt that it was eating, not only into his flesh, but, in some way, into him. I was afraid to do it, but I was too afraid for my friend not to. There is a shadow in his life, somewhere, and it comes to me that it is something to do with his family, and to do with hurt inflicted by a dragon.
So I did it. I cut into his flesh, and swabbed the terrible dark eating stuff that poured forth from his skin. Over and over again I lanced into the terrible festering blisters on his back and cleansed all of that from them, with herbs and alcohol and enough bandages to wrap an entire pharoah, and when the raw wounds were at last laid clean and bare I healed them with Cleric's grace. Perhaps because of what had been in them, or perhaps because I was exhausted, it was terribly difficult, but in the end the skin of his back was smooth and whole and the only trace remaining of those festering, blistering marks were faint white marks like old old scars. And after all of that Dirk could rise from the table, a little dizzy with the pain I had inflicted on him, but in all honesty looking better than he had when he lay down. When I had thought I saw the beginnings of fever bright and hot in his eyes. The Dirk who rose after enduring so much was very much himself again. I helped him up the stairs, and saw him to he and Elhana's room, for he was so weak he could hardly stand, and all the time my hands were as rock steady and sure as they had been all the time they cut into flesh on my command. I saw him to his bed, and then stumbled myself to my and Xanthias's room, where Isolde slept curled up in his little cot under the window. Usually I would have brought her to the bed with me, but this time I did not. Instead, I carefully poured myself a cup of water, for my throat was dry as dust, sat down on the bed, and waited.
It began, as it ever does, with the hands. They began, ever so slightly, to shake. Before I could put the cup down, it fell to the floor. I stooped, but I could no longer pick it up again, because by now my arms were shaking, and my legs gave way beneath me, dropping me onto the floor. I managed to crawl onto the bed again before the deep judders began all through my body, wracking me from head to heels, clenching my stomach until I felt bile rise. And I lived the operation again, lying on that bed staring at that wooden beamed ceiling. Every cut into the living body, every time the knife could have slipped and done harm, passed before my eyes as I shook with all I did and all I could have done.
Until in the end, it passed. There was just enough strength in me to kick off the soft indoor shoes and crawl under the mass of coverlets, breathing hard, until in the end my heart stopped pounding and my stomach stooped trying to empty itself, and I could bury my face in the pillows and sink exhausted into darkness.
Later, Xanthias returned. I heard him softly enter the room, pick up the cup with a little exclimation of surprise from where I had left it on the floor. He stroked my hair, called my name softly, but I could not respond. Instead, I feigned sleep, feigning that became true again soon enough after. I barely felt the bed move under him as he lay down before I fell again back into darkness, and dreamless respite.
So...so...tired...
I did something I have not done for a long time today. I operated on a man to remove something evil within his body, as I did back in the Duke's Army. It... it has been a long time, but I did it. I saved Dirk's life.
He had been scratched, clawed by a dragon with venomous spurs. He asked me to examine the scars on his back. I knew from the moment I touched him that the closed wounds were full of venom, eating into him like acid. All the arts of Cleric's grace I have learned here in Valorn were of no use to me faced with such a thing as this, so I was forced to go back to the old way. The knife. I could only give him poppy and valerian infusions to dull the pain, but he endured the pain of the lancing like none I ever saw. I was terrified - I had never done such a thing as this. I was once used to probing for arrows and fragments of catapult shot, but something like this - pockets of venom sitting within the flesh eating inward - I had no experience of such a thing. But as I touched Dirk's flesh I could feel this thing sitting in his body, and somehow I felt that it was eating, not only into his flesh, but, in some way, into him. I was afraid to do it, but I was too afraid for my friend not to. There is a shadow in his life, somewhere, and it comes to me that it is something to do with his family, and to do with hurt inflicted by a dragon.
So I did it. I cut into his flesh, and swabbed the terrible dark eating stuff that poured forth from his skin. Over and over again I lanced into the terrible festering blisters on his back and cleansed all of that from them, with herbs and alcohol and enough bandages to wrap an entire pharoah, and when the raw wounds were at last laid clean and bare I healed them with Cleric's grace. Perhaps because of what had been in them, or perhaps because I was exhausted, it was terribly difficult, but in the end the skin of his back was smooth and whole and the only trace remaining of those festering, blistering marks were faint white marks like old old scars. And after all of that Dirk could rise from the table, a little dizzy with the pain I had inflicted on him, but in all honesty looking better than he had when he lay down. When I had thought I saw the beginnings of fever bright and hot in his eyes. The Dirk who rose after enduring so much was very much himself again. I helped him up the stairs, and saw him to he and Elhana's room, for he was so weak he could hardly stand, and all the time my hands were as rock steady and sure as they had been all the time they cut into flesh on my command. I saw him to his bed, and then stumbled myself to my and Xanthias's room, where Isolde slept curled up in his little cot under the window. Usually I would have brought her to the bed with me, but this time I did not. Instead, I carefully poured myself a cup of water, for my throat was dry as dust, sat down on the bed, and waited.
It began, as it ever does, with the hands. They began, ever so slightly, to shake. Before I could put the cup down, it fell to the floor. I stooped, but I could no longer pick it up again, because by now my arms were shaking, and my legs gave way beneath me, dropping me onto the floor. I managed to crawl onto the bed again before the deep judders began all through my body, wracking me from head to heels, clenching my stomach until I felt bile rise. And I lived the operation again, lying on that bed staring at that wooden beamed ceiling. Every cut into the living body, every time the knife could have slipped and done harm, passed before my eyes as I shook with all I did and all I could have done.
Until in the end, it passed. There was just enough strength in me to kick off the soft indoor shoes and crawl under the mass of coverlets, breathing hard, until in the end my heart stopped pounding and my stomach stooped trying to empty itself, and I could bury my face in the pillows and sink exhausted into darkness.
Later, Xanthias returned. I heard him softly enter the room, pick up the cup with a little exclimation of surprise from where I had left it on the floor. He stroked my hair, called my name softly, but I could not respond. Instead, I feigned sleep, feigning that became true again soon enough after. I barely felt the bed move under him as he lay down before I fell again back into darkness, and dreamless respite.
Wednesday, 30 March 2005
In a shaky hand, written with one side of a worn stick of charcoal
Savannah... Savannah Stone is here. I would never have believed it possible, but I cannot deny the evidence of my eyes. She is alive, and apparently sane, though it seems at times that her face has something of the ghoulish sunkeness of the walking corpses. It may only be pallor, though, and the Gods know I have been accused of having similar looks more than once.
I met her in the temple of Dundee. Odd, how often I seem to end up meeting those of possible darkness in temples. Perhaps lucky for me. Perhaps not. She blames me for ending her life, which is her her right. As I did kill her. Not by intent nor by choice, but I burned her soul from her body with my Ring, and that Ring cannot be taken from my finger. It is a part of me. More immediately troubling, she tried to convince me that the darkness is resident not in her, but in Danin. That he manipulated me into killing her.
This is something I must consider. Instinct tells me not to trust her. There is soemthing about her that makes the skin of the back of my neck crawl. But that of course could be the fact that she once threatened Isolde. To this day, the thought of that raises a flicker of rage in me that lets me know how hot the flames would be if I let them burn without fetter. but the truth is that we are creatures of reason. If I cannot act in a rational manner, I may as well be the beast I once close to became, and stop pretensions to language or thought, to weapons and poetry and love.
Worse still, in this vein of thought, is that Asyria appears to believe something that Savannah said to me backs up Savannah's accusations. Something about Danin and a woman - a Lady - named Elizabeth...
Savannah... Savannah Stone is here. I would never have believed it possible, but I cannot deny the evidence of my eyes. She is alive, and apparently sane, though it seems at times that her face has something of the ghoulish sunkeness of the walking corpses. It may only be pallor, though, and the Gods know I have been accused of having similar looks more than once.
I met her in the temple of Dundee. Odd, how often I seem to end up meeting those of possible darkness in temples. Perhaps lucky for me. Perhaps not. She blames me for ending her life, which is her her right. As I did kill her. Not by intent nor by choice, but I burned her soul from her body with my Ring, and that Ring cannot be taken from my finger. It is a part of me. More immediately troubling, she tried to convince me that the darkness is resident not in her, but in Danin. That he manipulated me into killing her.
This is something I must consider. Instinct tells me not to trust her. There is soemthing about her that makes the skin of the back of my neck crawl. But that of course could be the fact that she once threatened Isolde. To this day, the thought of that raises a flicker of rage in me that lets me know how hot the flames would be if I let them burn without fetter. but the truth is that we are creatures of reason. If I cannot act in a rational manner, I may as well be the beast I once close to became, and stop pretensions to language or thought, to weapons and poetry and love.
Worse still, in this vein of thought, is that Asyria appears to believe something that Savannah said to me backs up Savannah's accusations. Something about Danin and a woman - a Lady - named Elizabeth...
Thursday, 24 March 2005
Spatters of blood and sooty fingermarks sully this page, although it is written in a clear flowing hand
An exhausting day, but also one of great joy and purpose. One I am reminded how much I have come to belong in this place, to this whole sweet land of Valorn.
There was an attack, a terrible attack, by the forces of Balthazar. I almost fell prey to despiar as fire rained from the skies, fires raged in Milltown, and great beasts came through the Gates, darkening the world around them. I thought almost that the moment of my worst fears, my visions through the twisting mists of fever, had come upon me at last. Almost I let the hammer drop from my hand, and gave into the despair and the death I saw waiting for me, to play out for the last time as it had so many times before in my mind.
But I did not. Something fierce and angry woke within my heart. I am Venus. That may not count for much, but when have I ever let evil go unopposed when there was anything I could do? I have fought, by the Light, I have fought creatures of evil and wreakers of terrible destruction and death up and down this land and my own home, now barren dust. And I have done something! Despite what happened after, it has not all been in vain. My homeland is gone to ashes, but I have fought hard to preserve Valorn for all the time since I entered the Gates of Dundee and took the Oath of an Adventurer. And Valorn still stood... And the quiet words of Xanthias came to my mind as I confessed my fear to him in our room in the Dundee Inn "We shape our own destiny, and if you let what you see in Milltown affect you, then you will have already lost. N'rolav is simply what Balthazar wants to happen, not what will. Keep that in mind and embrace it." As he wrapped me in his arms...
And the anger woke in me, and I raised my hammer and I fought. The beasts, along with scores of others, come from all corners of the land to aid Milltown's struggle, and demons, centurions and soldier demons. I heard the foul rasping voice of Balthazar sully the air, and yet I also heard him give his demon legions the order to turn and flee as we slaughtered the remnants of the rearguard in Caer Laledan. After their deaths, they left terrible fires burning, and these we all fought with equal medacity to the demons, running back and forth from the spring bearing as many pails as we could of the clear cold water and organising bucket chains to douse the flames.
It was while fighting these terrible flames that I made the mistake of gasping as a breeze blew a wave of scorching heat at me through my armour. I drew this very heat into my own lungs. As the last flames were put out, I found myself coughing, more and more fractically, and, after looking at the horrified expressions on the weary and soot-stained face around me, I put my hand to my lips and came away with blood. The pain within my chest grew crippling and I realised I could not breathe, that I must have burned the lining of my lungs. And the here I gained my second insight into how close I have become to this land of Valorn. Iso, along with Doyle and Elhana, not my closest friends though both good and kind people, though all were spent and exhausted, immdeiately gave all they could and more to save my life. As I lay coughing out my life on Caer Laledan's scorched ve;evet lawn, I was cradled by Doyle and Iso, who threw all if themselves into healing me, while elahana gave them the emergy needed to do so, despite her exhaustion. And when I tried to thank them, they all three resposnded that it was only my due, that they were honoured to help me after I had helped so many myself.
For such kindness as they showed, i can never repay them. But perhaps.. perhaps, I need not try. Perhaps we all do truly lean upon each other, aid one another, heal and support one another, as I had always most hoped, in the deepest depths of my soul, for those of my home to do. Perhaps... perhaps, this is our strength here in this lovely living land. Our strength. The strength od many acting together, not because we are ordered to or compelled to, but because it is the calling of our hearts to stand by one another, in living and in dying, in being.
And perhaps, just perhaps, I am not the weak link I had always supposed myself to be. Is it possible I could be strong? Worthy of these people? Worthy of this place?
Is it?
An exhausting day, but also one of great joy and purpose. One I am reminded how much I have come to belong in this place, to this whole sweet land of Valorn.
There was an attack, a terrible attack, by the forces of Balthazar. I almost fell prey to despiar as fire rained from the skies, fires raged in Milltown, and great beasts came through the Gates, darkening the world around them. I thought almost that the moment of my worst fears, my visions through the twisting mists of fever, had come upon me at last. Almost I let the hammer drop from my hand, and gave into the despair and the death I saw waiting for me, to play out for the last time as it had so many times before in my mind.
But I did not. Something fierce and angry woke within my heart. I am Venus. That may not count for much, but when have I ever let evil go unopposed when there was anything I could do? I have fought, by the Light, I have fought creatures of evil and wreakers of terrible destruction and death up and down this land and my own home, now barren dust. And I have done something! Despite what happened after, it has not all been in vain. My homeland is gone to ashes, but I have fought hard to preserve Valorn for all the time since I entered the Gates of Dundee and took the Oath of an Adventurer. And Valorn still stood... And the quiet words of Xanthias came to my mind as I confessed my fear to him in our room in the Dundee Inn "We shape our own destiny, and if you let what you see in Milltown affect you, then you will have already lost. N'rolav is simply what Balthazar wants to happen, not what will. Keep that in mind and embrace it." As he wrapped me in his arms...
And the anger woke in me, and I raised my hammer and I fought. The beasts, along with scores of others, come from all corners of the land to aid Milltown's struggle, and demons, centurions and soldier demons. I heard the foul rasping voice of Balthazar sully the air, and yet I also heard him give his demon legions the order to turn and flee as we slaughtered the remnants of the rearguard in Caer Laledan. After their deaths, they left terrible fires burning, and these we all fought with equal medacity to the demons, running back and forth from the spring bearing as many pails as we could of the clear cold water and organising bucket chains to douse the flames.
It was while fighting these terrible flames that I made the mistake of gasping as a breeze blew a wave of scorching heat at me through my armour. I drew this very heat into my own lungs. As the last flames were put out, I found myself coughing, more and more fractically, and, after looking at the horrified expressions on the weary and soot-stained face around me, I put my hand to my lips and came away with blood. The pain within my chest grew crippling and I realised I could not breathe, that I must have burned the lining of my lungs. And the here I gained my second insight into how close I have become to this land of Valorn. Iso, along with Doyle and Elhana, not my closest friends though both good and kind people, though all were spent and exhausted, immdeiately gave all they could and more to save my life. As I lay coughing out my life on Caer Laledan's scorched ve;evet lawn, I was cradled by Doyle and Iso, who threw all if themselves into healing me, while elahana gave them the emergy needed to do so, despite her exhaustion. And when I tried to thank them, they all three resposnded that it was only my due, that they were honoured to help me after I had helped so many myself.
For such kindness as they showed, i can never repay them. But perhaps.. perhaps, I need not try. Perhaps we all do truly lean upon each other, aid one another, heal and support one another, as I had always most hoped, in the deepest depths of my soul, for those of my home to do. Perhaps... perhaps, this is our strength here in this lovely living land. Our strength. The strength od many acting together, not because we are ordered to or compelled to, but because it is the calling of our hearts to stand by one another, in living and in dying, in being.
And perhaps, just perhaps, I am not the weak link I had always supposed myself to be. Is it possible I could be strong? Worthy of these people? Worthy of this place?
Is it?
Monday, 21 March 2005
Isolde and I visited Danica in her cottage a few days ago. It is a beautiful place indeed, decorated with her artwork and simple yet beautifully-carven furniture. At first I was most embarassed to be there, and even more so after I let slip about Xanthias and my relationship before she heard it from any other. I was so angry with myself I nearly fled that place. But she reassured me that she did not blame me for it. The bitterness in her eyes was close to frightening, much of it for her little Elysian, but some, I see still, for her own sake. I see her lonliness as well as her solace in the privacy of her home, how eagerly she welcomed me there, even I who she must still have some anger in her heart for. I mean to go and see her more often, if I can force my faint heart to risk that buried anger. She needs some time with adults, and aid to raise the little one, no matter how good a babe he is. I cannot think what I would have done when Isolde was that little sickly scrap without Llye, Mylor and Steel, no matter that they knew about as much of child-rearing as I did. Their warmth and their kindness when I flagged and feared for the life of that little scrap (faint-hearted again, it seems), their laughter and their love for both of us; that was what mattered.
My feelings about what Xanthias and I have remain most confused. There are times when I see him and my heart most unexpectedly sings within me, making me almost giddy and silly. At other times, what he says makes me blush ashamed. My godsforsaken skiny body, lacking in "the meat of a woman" and "unfit to bear child". I know he says he wishes no more children, and the Gods know it is not likely... but... it made me feel as barren as a desert again. Fool that I am. I feel as though I lack a layer of skin around him, suddenly horribly vulnerable everything that comes my way from him. Joy, anger, comments that would have brushed right by from another...
Desire...? Here a spatter on the page as if the writer dropped the pen.
My feelings about what Xanthias and I have remain most confused. There are times when I see him and my heart most unexpectedly sings within me, making me almost giddy and silly. At other times, what he says makes me blush ashamed. My godsforsaken skiny body, lacking in "the meat of a woman" and "unfit to bear child". I know he says he wishes no more children, and the Gods know it is not likely... but... it made me feel as barren as a desert again. Fool that I am. I feel as though I lack a layer of skin around him, suddenly horribly vulnerable everything that comes my way from him. Joy, anger, comments that would have brushed right by from another...
Desire...? Here a spatter on the page as if the writer dropped the pen.
Sunday, 20 March 2005
As I write.... More has changed than I could have believed possible. Truly, one things my mother taught me as a child remains so. Everything changes.
Of course, when she first said that to me, she always added And nothing is ever truly lost. In a soft confident voice as though speaking a fact. After the Secondborn died, when I was little more than a babe myself, she added it again, but now in a wavering, questioning voice, as though she was half-trying to convince herself, half asking. Asking who? Her Spirits? The Gods? I know not...
Xanthias... I do not know how he believes, truly. He claims to a faith far more devout than I, and I do not believe he would lie. There is no deceit in he, my heart,. But nonetheless, I think he has his doubts, here and there. Who could not after what he has lost; what he has endured? I talked with Isoyami , who gave me his sincere wishes that with Xanthias I should find happiness; that I should find my faith again. I do not know if he means faith in people or faith in the Light. He sees a plan in the world, a weaving and a balance, that all things in the end work out for good. I do not think I can ever again believe that.
I have tried to explain it to Iso, as one day I may firnd myself having to explain it to Xanthias. Though my heart has so far been deeply tactful in not questioning me on my faith in any way, there may come a time when this changes.
I see the Light as though it truly were a physical light. Before it stand all of us, the people, the creatures, the life of the physcial realm. Behind us, closer to the Light and made of more of it, stand the Spirits, the Gods, divine things. And behind all of that, shining through behind all things, is the Light. It is all that makes everything that could ever live have meaning. All love, all beauty, all joy, all Life. It gives everything menaing, but has none itself. It does not need to. It means itself. There is no meaning to it other than what it is, for it needs no other. What other meaning need life have than to simply be?
When Mar died, when he hung in those chains with all that he was, all the Light gone from his beautiful dark eyes, I never thought I could ever feel hope again. But now, oddly enough, I... almost feel that I can.
And... and I am sure anyone I told of this would think I was out of my mind to think so... I almost fancy I can feel those dark eyes on me, from somewhere, all the love and all the joy, all the Light that shone from him whenever he looked at me in them once again.
And perhaps I am out of my mind.... but I care not. For it is worth it.
Of course, when she first said that to me, she always added And nothing is ever truly lost. In a soft confident voice as though speaking a fact. After the Secondborn died, when I was little more than a babe myself, she added it again, but now in a wavering, questioning voice, as though she was half-trying to convince herself, half asking. Asking who? Her Spirits? The Gods? I know not...
Xanthias... I do not know how he believes, truly. He claims to a faith far more devout than I, and I do not believe he would lie. There is no deceit in he, my heart,. But nonetheless, I think he has his doubts, here and there. Who could not after what he has lost; what he has endured? I talked with Isoyami , who gave me his sincere wishes that with Xanthias I should find happiness; that I should find my faith again. I do not know if he means faith in people or faith in the Light. He sees a plan in the world, a weaving and a balance, that all things in the end work out for good. I do not think I can ever again believe that.
I have tried to explain it to Iso, as one day I may firnd myself having to explain it to Xanthias. Though my heart has so far been deeply tactful in not questioning me on my faith in any way, there may come a time when this changes.
I see the Light as though it truly were a physical light. Before it stand all of us, the people, the creatures, the life of the physcial realm. Behind us, closer to the Light and made of more of it, stand the Spirits, the Gods, divine things. And behind all of that, shining through behind all things, is the Light. It is all that makes everything that could ever live have meaning. All love, all beauty, all joy, all Life. It gives everything menaing, but has none itself. It does not need to. It means itself. There is no meaning to it other than what it is, for it needs no other. What other meaning need life have than to simply be?
When Mar died, when he hung in those chains with all that he was, all the Light gone from his beautiful dark eyes, I never thought I could ever feel hope again. But now, oddly enough, I... almost feel that I can.
And... and I am sure anyone I told of this would think I was out of my mind to think so... I almost fancy I can feel those dark eyes on me, from somewhere, all the love and all the joy, all the Light that shone from him whenever he looked at me in them once again.
And perhaps I am out of my mind.... but I care not. For it is worth it.
Monday, 14 March 2005
Neat, level writing im[ressed deeply into the page as though the writer was leaning on the quill with main strength. There is a small spatter of ink at the end where the nib has broken.
Cerberus is dead. He killed himself. The darkness got him and overwhelmed him and just before it did... he killed himself.
I hope he has his peace. Somewhere.
Cerberus is dead. He killed himself. The darkness got him and overwhelmed him and just before it did... he killed himself.
I hope he has his peace. Somewhere.
Tuesday, 08 March 2005
In scribbled writing that wanders all over the page, blotted here and there by water marks...like teardrops
Xanthias... Xanthias... the name of the Light...
I have seen him. He was here, in the Dundee Inn. Terribly, terribly injured. My heart froze at the sight of him... What have I done? How could I have driven him away to be hurt so badly? His eye... it seemed close to destroyed. And as for the rest of his body...it was bruised, slashed, burned, bleeding... I rushed in to aid as I could.
I healed him... I think... I do not know... I used so much energy... I was so afraid... I drained myself and fell asleep there at the table...
When I awoke, he was gone.
Xanthias... Xanthias... the name of the Light...
I have seen him. He was here, in the Dundee Inn. Terribly, terribly injured. My heart froze at the sight of him... What have I done? How could I have driven him away to be hurt so badly? His eye... it seemed close to destroyed. And as for the rest of his body...it was bruised, slashed, burned, bleeding... I rushed in to aid as I could.
I healed him... I think... I do not know... I used so much energy... I was so afraid... I drained myself and fell asleep there at the table...
When I awoke, he was gone.
Since last I wrote... more has happened than I could have believed possible...
I am not proud of my beahviour over the past few weeks. I have felt so lost, and so alone. As though I was failing Isolde every time I turned around, dragging her from place to place rootless as a floating seed. on the wind. At least once, I got drunk, which I rarely, rarely do, because I remember how Aquila used to do it when I was young. Rarely, rarely, we would go to a town, and there would be that look in his eyes, a dark and opaque look like old cracked glass. And I knew that after we were settled he would drink himself quietly and steadily to oblivion. It terrified me, at the time, to see him go so far beyond my reach. But every now and again, now, it comes to have a certain appeal. I suppose that is a sign that I have accumulated the kind of memories he needed to escape from on those nights. And so far, every time, someone has stopped me. I should be pleased about that, I guess. Pleased that anyone cares enough to. I am not proud of how I treated Redti in particular. I hope he has forgiven me...
But over all of that... I have recieved a note from Xanthias! He is alive! In the fire caverns, below Dundee! I mean to go and find him as soon as I can... I was so afraid... so long, I thought him dead... so long silent... I have missed him so. I hope he can forgive me, for all I pushed him to...
I am not proud of my beahviour over the past few weeks. I have felt so lost, and so alone. As though I was failing Isolde every time I turned around, dragging her from place to place rootless as a floating seed. on the wind. At least once, I got drunk, which I rarely, rarely do, because I remember how Aquila used to do it when I was young. Rarely, rarely, we would go to a town, and there would be that look in his eyes, a dark and opaque look like old cracked glass. And I knew that after we were settled he would drink himself quietly and steadily to oblivion. It terrified me, at the time, to see him go so far beyond my reach. But every now and again, now, it comes to have a certain appeal. I suppose that is a sign that I have accumulated the kind of memories he needed to escape from on those nights. And so far, every time, someone has stopped me. I should be pleased about that, I guess. Pleased that anyone cares enough to. I am not proud of how I treated Redti in particular. I hope he has forgiven me...
But over all of that... I have recieved a note from Xanthias! He is alive! In the fire caverns, below Dundee! I mean to go and find him as soon as I can... I was so afraid... so long, I thought him dead... so long silent... I have missed him so. I hope he can forgive me, for all I pushed him to...