Folio Two, Page Fifteen (svegra mos itzkron tal-sjek)

To think, Nishet, that two months have passed since my last letter reached you. So far, I have written much more than I ought, but the story speaks and getting it out in large chunks will be good for me. By now, I have missed five ships out of the canyon-dark, along with two treescraper planes.

Three weeks ago, some divinity, perhaps Mæs, came to me in a dream and warned against sending you too many pieces of paper — the signs indicate that someone will move to intercept if you receive too many. The thought has intermittently occurred to me that sending too many letters is dangerous. Even if you doubt these reminiscences, the events that take place at the end must convince you that, were certain people to hear that I live, remaining here would be impossible. Each of us must make Prudence our mistress.

This, I hope, will explain the feathered pelts I have enclosed in the shipment. They should catch a fair price in the open market. The dancers will go out to buy the materials for the Carnival of Words about now, if memory serves. Please see this as payment for the paper I received from you last week. I take it that you received my wire.

Lest I forget, send my love to your children and family, but take care to paint me as that provincial girl who proved useful to your quest for enlightenment. If anyone asks about the material I am sending, say that I am giving you a history of the temples and historic sages of the region. Nothing bores secular-minded people more than religious history, and while your family’s lack of concern for ritual is unwise, we may put it to use. Maybe your daughter will grow up in piety? One never knows whose influence a young thing like that will follow.

One more thing: I hope that these letters may continue. A tourist saw me at the market and said I looked familiar, but I laughed. We ate fresh river squid by my waterfall dock and spoke of the city. Not once did he call me Eràsis, and I would hope that his hesitation to name a phantom will keep him silent later.

His name is Likua tal Nasrem, and he comes from Mentasjon——you know where that is, right at the center of the Labrys Region where they make—or made—those fine sap sugars——so you must do me a favor and look for him once he returns. It may take several years. He wishes to study with the ascetics on the Masa Precipice. Of course, if anything eats him on the way, I suppose my worries and request will mean nothing.

But I will return to the narrative immediately. Please do not let this digression distress you.

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