Dear Mam,
I'm to tramp my first strolling watch tonight. I'll be taking the emerald line down to the Fork and back. Pap swears I'm ready, though I spy misgiving in his eye when he thinks I'm not looking. Serg has loaned me his second-most keen diamond-dag and Parma wove me a new winter tunic, lined in wool from Eerdmair's finest.
I wish you were here.
But then I wonder, Mam -- if you truly are such a powerful magistress, shouldn’t you be able to read my letters from afar? Except, if you are also wicked, why would you care?
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