Zurusha's correspondence

Savos, 3 Khurar, 768

My dear Medimur,

Irdomila is such her father's daughter. It astonishes me that you cannot see it in her voice, the way I can read it from the rough scrawl in her latest letter to me. It is as if she came to us direct from your loins, without the least mediation from your dear wife, though my hips remind me otherwise almost every day.

You will, of course, I trust, see that she receives no special treatment when she becomes an acolyte. I will not hear of it. It is not good for a Nemni child to be so coddled, as I fear I was by my dear father. She will want for nothing in this life, but let her feel desire long enough that she uses it to urge herself onward. She says, once again, that the mystic's path is calling to her. Mother will be pleased, I am sure.

I wonder what name the Wellspring will give to her, when the day comes? Is it strange to hope that it is not a well-worn one? That she should have a name not so weighted down with the legacy of reuse that she is unfree to chart her own course? I am certain that She will choose wisely, of course. Do not take my anxiety as a sign of mistrust.

I know you have so much to do, with the latest business. I hear only what people write to me, and even that is enough to terrify me. I do not claim to understand any of this, except to know that I am safer here in my chambers than I have any right to expect, given the danger that you and others must put yourself in to keep me so.

The work here proceeds as it must, with the needle and the knife the servant to the spine. I will not bore you with these trifles, lest you decide once again that I really must know about the various sparring positions and their many confusing names. I will of course remind you to eat well, and to reassure you in the same way that I am well fed, and perhaps even gaining a pound or two. Just because I know you worry, I share this with you.

As always, I close, not in false hope of what cannot be, but in trust in your letters as they come, constant as sunset, with you as my constant light and I,

Your dearest,

Geme