A week since the festival. My mind has settled, my spirit calmed. Pen’s arm is looking much better. Pang and Heiye have mended their friendship. Sev has plots to make and Dri to taunt. I am enjoying my cooking and will meet Meyni’s mother later today or tomorrow. She is ill, and bedridden. I suspect she is dying, though Meyni has not said so straight out. The deaths of my parents were not a pleasant time, so I do not blame her.
One part of our situation I do mind is not being able to visit graves and pay my respects. I should buy a bit of incense to pay respects with here. I think Sev would like that.
At this moment, I sit at our table with my writing, brush in hand and ink drying black on the page. Sev sits crosslegged on the floor on a red cushion, paper spread around him, a scattering of spice pots, herb bunches and my jewelry representing our allies and enemies. Pang sits at his right shoulder, not understanding a thing and fascinated in spite of that. Heiye is practicing his writing under the table, and I am being careful not to kick him. I suspect the feeling is rather like having a dog under one’s desk, though to be accurate I cannot be sure – never having had a dog.
I had thought Pen was still painting, but she is mending a rip in her brother’s clothes. I was going to have to scold her, but this is a pleasant surprise. Outside, twilight is just falling.