Road to Len Esari

We are, I am, you are
 
by cowardice or courage
 
the one who find our way
 
back to this scene
 
carrying a knife, a camera
 
a book of myths
 
in which
 
our names do not appear.
 
Diving into the Wreck
Adrienne Rich - 1929-2012
 
 
Strange, heading to Len Esari, in this company of devotees of the Feathered One, I feel a certain familiar comfort. As if we aren’t that alone anymore - and we aren’t, of course, now that Gustavo has brought these incredible women to find us, save us - but it’s more than that, of course. She haunts me here. So much so that, when confronted with these strange devotees, without thought I slipped us into her image - she would be most at home here, would understand the expectations and the rituals, the proper way to proceed. I am exhausted, we are exhausted, and I needed to borrow her odd strength, if only for a moment.
 
This priestess, will she know the name Zel’inthuul? Is that the shadow the one called Neia sensed in us? Or is the shadow something else, the reason you were here, alone, all that time, all those years? Is this something you bear alone, and I bear only because I hold you inside me? I wish you could answer me, I wish I could tell you how whole I am now, how sure I am that we can confront anything at all, now. All these years emptied out, finally over…
 
This place is so odd, and the familiarity lingers - that trip we took to Granmukata, meeting her family, walking the halls of a temple to their god - and getting the distinct impression that their faith is as much political as it is religious. Visiting the grand temple of Utrixia, which didn’t quite dwarf their temple, though I teased her it did. And the constant press of the continent too close, danger too near to ever truly relax, feeling you inside me, always a target to those monsters who run an empire founded on blood and cruelty. We weren’t born for levity, were we?
 
Final note, one of annoyance, frankly: must these damn elves be so attractive?