The Thousandfold Notes of Alejandro Benjazar

[Don Nadie]

Drunk, Gellemende, Tyrant

We meet in the Center, to discuss.
Books, our only witnesses.
He was concerned. I was tired, but hopeful.
Perhaps today I'd solve something.

"Often, one performs deed worthy of Shame song"
"Because think is 'right thing to do'"
"But that is not the nature of those"
(His sandless, endless; his eyes, pitch-black)
(His tone, worn: the unbearable weight of the world)
"These beings", he continued, in whispers.
"They will take more and more and more, never satisfied"
"Grow like worm in womb of world".

Was he aware, I wonder now, of just how many people he described?
I think neither of us was.
The day moved forward, I waited for Akna.
Prepared the documents, the things I knew she agreed on.
But was hesitant to pass, out of politics.
And when she woke, the discussion was long.
The concessions endless. The compromise, insufficient. 

"You know this is the right thing", I insisted.
"If we cannot fix anything bigger, anything more important"
"Let's fix one thing, at least"
And she sighed. And nodded.

A symbol, I thought, joyous
It mattered little, in the great scheme of things, but a symbol.
An an announcement, ringing. Joy, for a moment.
Thinking, for a moment, we were, together, doing something good.
Thinking I stroke a victory, for a moment.
I felt happy, and playful, and then all came crashing down.
Heavy, the earth. Angered, the sky. Drowning, the Sea.

"This Drunk, this Gellemende, this Balladeer", seethed the Liar.
"This ilegitimate Legate, this Tyrant".
"You will cause a civil war"
And worst of all, arriving in his azure robes.
Rotund, brash, unapologetic. Hungry like a worm in the womb of the world.
"I am prepared to give Vico the full support of the Tower", he promised, the Zenithar.
"Make all of his dreams come true"

Her, quiet, in her toga. Her hands folded.
Her silence acquiescent: Drunk, Gellemende, Balladeer, Tyrant.
(Why do I care so much, about what others think?)
(Why do they hurt so much, still, the lies?)
Before us, a sea of blue. All hauled from their heights, for this.
(Never for kindness, always for this)

                                   And she folded, instantly, at the storm.
                                                        Leaving me alone, and illegitimate.
                                                 Acting Legate of the White, and Tyrant.

                   (And Drunk)           (And Balladeer)           (And Gellemende)                 

"This was a mistake", she said.
"Let us undo it", she added. "Agree to it, Alejandro".

She, who didn't want to fold. Who wanted to be strong.
Folding us both.

"You will not have to deal with the aftermath, Alejandro."
"She will", pointed the Chief Scribe.
And then, the dagger:
"I thought she was your friend".

I think that's what really broke me.
Was there a point, to hold on for two hours?
It felt useless. Now, in perspective, maybe I should've.
Maybe the Well needed two hours of a Legate who didn't bow.
I wouldn't be that Legate.

Theatrics aside, I surredered.
Not willing to take the risk, to the Well or to her.
Not for two single hours.
And she didn't speak to me.
She didn't seek me. Not for a moment.

There being people more important than her allies.
Or her friends.

                              "Drunk. Gellemende. Balladeer. Tyrant".

                                                             Her silence, an acquiescence.                                     

[Don Nadie]

On Thwarting Monsters

Once there was a wicked djinn.
Sealed away in a faraway isle.
Sealed with heroism and silver.
Sealed with sacrifice.

She stood at the Krak, vine-embraced.
On her hand, the spear, blood-tipped.
"I imagine you know the reason for my call, Alejandro"
I sighed, I nodded, I marched.
The odd man out, my white scarf in a sea of black.

Once, the djinn shuffled in its sleep.
Turned in its prison, pulled at its chains.
Something, from outside, reaching through the bars.
A crack is all it takes, for a monster.

To the isle we marched; I, in silence.
Heavy the memmories of that island, all that came.
Only Amelie and I, sharing that burden.
Sharing, as we climbed, the memories.
The losses.

Once, a party was gathered.
For monsters thrive, when left alone.

To the caldera we climbed. There, a ritual.
A Sister to See; two acolytes to hold.
An army of Balladeers to guard us.
And myself, and my song, to ring in the air.

"Sing a verse, any verse", she instructed. 
The verse your heart desires"

Oh, what great heroes the were!
And how shining their swords!
And how bright their hearts!
And how clear their conscience!

What made me choose that first poem, written ages ago?
That poem of joy, and hope?
That poem about joining the College, and being a Hero?
I do not know, but it is the verse I had.
And through the night, I sang it.

Oh, what battle the heroes found!
Whirling shadows, and misty monsters!
Sword-clawed harpies with broken eyes!
The Court of the djinni, against their Light.

The melody rang with a joy I did not feel. Not that day.
The melody rang. Cheer! Delight! Elation!
Fresh, drippling notes, like a spring's drizzle! 
Through hours, through the night, until dawn came.
I sang and sang and sang, as the three women chanted.
And, behind us, my once-companions bled.
Until dawn came, and we were victorious.

But no monster can hold against Heroism.
And so Dawn came, and in its throes, Victory rang.
A monster defeated; a monster, sealed.
A monster bound for a hundred years.
For monsters thrive, when unattended.

We collapsed. All of us. Made an effort to, raise.
Took me a long while to move. I was leaving last.
And she awaited me, holding her doll. Staring intently.

"Part of you wishes that had gone worse", she whispered.
(How open the heart, to one who knows its twists)
"Stop it".

And so, the heroes returned, and found back their city.
And in their city, the same monsters as before.
The monsters of greed, and power, and control.
Who had kept growing wild, and unattened.

"Even if I can't defeat the Tower", I whispered, sulking.
"I can, at least, defeat the djinn"
(I spoke in tenuous whispers. My voice, exhausted)
(A whole night of singing takes a toll, I guess)
"You need to stop smoking", he declared, taking the cigarette from my hands.
"Specially after what you've gone through. Give it a rest".
"Doctor's orders", he added, a thin smile on his lips.
Too tired to argue, I gave in. He was, after all, doing me a favor.
A dangerous one, all things considered.

For the monsters of a city are made of lies.
The monsters of a city are made of whispers.
And their thwarting takes, alas,
means much subtler than Heroism.
Still, heroes must try.

"You should try it", he proposed, softly.
We were saying goodbye. Him, to class; me, to bed.
"Try what?", I asked, uncertain.
His expression kind. Perhaps with some pity, he responded:

"Being careful"

[Don Nadie]

Exciting Job Opportunities for the Recently Unemployed

It would appear that most do not share the Tower's anger over my actions, nor pay much heed to Cosine's lies. That is something. It would appear, as was also expected, that most agree it was desirable to change that legal absurdity, and a shame that we folded with such ease. I suppose I must agree with the majority. As it most cases, by "most" I refer to everyone not of the Tower.

At least it is as unenforceable as ever.

I got to work, swiftly. I got to it, before any blue robe could think on the topic (though Xon, I fear, might have considered it - he was wandering right outside the door, I'm amazed that he saw his Zenithar propose they aid Vico, and decided that I am the wrong party in the matter...). I secured what I needed to secure. Things will proceed, as they must. True work won't be stalled, for those who'd kill any flower that doesn't shine their colors. I won't allow it.

That aside, the conversation was pleasant and soft-spoken, with all the masks of politeness, offerings and acquiescence. I brought even a gift, a recently dug-mural which I have, by now, used to bribe three different Legates (I thank the Caliphal artisans who made so many copies). I do not trust the man, however. Then again, If Akna is showing me something, is you ought to trust no politician, even those who want to do right. Perhaps /specially/ those who want to do right.

The Prelateship ended. That is, also, a relief. In the last day, however, I have received more job offers that I know what do with.

"Come to the Scribes, and form the Office of Past Affairs"
"We got a spot for you at the Sagebrush, Al. We need a translator"
"Have you considered joining the Sandstone? You'd fit right in"
"I would see you back in the Rose, Alejandro, call you brother again."
"I still want you as my Magistrate. But you need to accept that I'll say no".
"If the government is to be of the People, it needs people such as you in it, oh Traveller".

It is good to be wanted.
It is also horrid, having to make new choices such as these.
And face new risks.

For the time being, my things are secured, and I got things to write.

[Don Nadie]

Handsome Potato

By now, I should know the drill.
Digging, guiding, guarding.
Bringing new people to the Sands, and to the Ages.
Letting them see the hidden symbols, the strange paralels.

From our onrush, to their traces.

That makes me happy. To be their shield and sword, as they learn.
("Dork Defender", as Jamileh liked to joke)
To make new friends - a much more joyous affair than politics.

"Look, I'd be with you in a heartbeat", I conceded.
"But those potato sacks...", I added, a gesture to his robes.
(They are hideous, truly. Doubt anyone could pull them off)
"Well, they symbolize the ascetic fashion...", he posed, a defense.
"And they're rather useful, too"

I chuckled, my mouth full of bean soup. A little lunch break.
(I had forgotten to eat, but he had brought it)
And a little, secret exchange.
Forbidden contraband and so on. How criminal of me.

"First of all, if you're going to be symbolic, you can use anything"
"And second...", I teased, with a smirk, "...Don't call that fashion"

He blushed a little, selfconsciously, and I felt a tinge of guilt.
(Sometimes, one can go to far, joking with new friends)

"I'm a potato...", he sighed.
Pulling at the hem of his robes.

Embarrassed, I tried to salvage the situation.
(Not that I'm a great improviser)
I offered, as kindly as I could:

"A handsome potato?"

[Don Nadie]

A Night of Historiographical Reflection

Historiography, that was the theme of our meeting.
My thesis, her answers, my history, her request.
A thing led to another, on the stone benches.
Fountains murmuring their ancient wisdom.
Soft the cloth of her toga, as I rested my head on her shoulder.

"In this world", she said.

Warm the tears: down my cheeks, down hers. Scribbles of memory, in salt.
Clear, the evening as stars flashed. Piercing, the truth:

"Either love dies..."

"Or lovers do"

[Don Nadie]

Slippery

For all that I may hate the man, I have to admit his skill.
Slippery. The comparison with an eel, most apt.
A trickster, if of the villanous persuassion.

"Live well, Ephians!", he said, now unshackled.
Walking out of the Justice Hall a free man.
"Live as well as Vico Rasca!"

Then again, part of me wonders how much its his talent.
And how much the convenient arrival of his Condotieros.
The dreary shadow of his Ballestrieres and Reclutas.
The looming weight of their armies.

"If you're going to do something like that", said the Jannisary.
(A nameless one, one of the guards that take turns at Akna's office)
"You may as well go all the way in. Like him".

He smirked, twirled his moustach with a self-pleased expression.
(Of all the sights of my Prelateship, I think this was by far the strangest.)
(A Jannisary telling people to be more like Vico. In front of him.)
And I smirked, too.

"I don't have armies to back me up", I said, simply.

What I didn't say, of course, is that I still danced my best.
Light footsteps, hidden expression,
                     sharp blade never entirely sheathed.
    Through the Labyrinths
       of Mystery and Revelation

                                    Down
                                            the
                                                    h
                                                         i                     
                                                             d
                                                                 d
                                                                      e
                                                                           n
                                                                                            p
                                                                                                 a
                                                                                                       t
                                                                                                           h
                                                                                                               s
                                                     

(A sphinx's feather)
        (A fistful of Ash)

[Don Nadie]

More Job Opportunities for the Recently Unemployed

The moment we heard of an undead army, we set off.
Probably not the smartest choice, all things considered.
(But neither of us is terribly smart)
(I honestly should've prepared better)

Dozens of undead, bones rattling,
                         the stink of rotten flesh.
           Claws and blades                                 back and forth with death, a promise.
                                        Dancing through them

     Incantation                 Song                          Rapier
                                        An absolute load of potions.

   And in the end remembering:
                            "Oh, wait. Tanglebags."
                                                     (Gosh, I'm not good at this)
                                                     (But sometimes, the best solutions are the most simple)

Capture. Success.
A curse muttered in the dungeons, to spell their own death.
And the Sergeant, who gazes at me.
     And then, the entirely unexpected:

"Have you ever considered becoming a Jannisary?"

        . . .         
       
        . . .         
       
        . . .         
I don't think anyone has ever laughed so hard in that dungeon.

(I hope she didn't feel insulted. I know she meant well)
(But Wheel above, only imagine)
(Next, I guess I'll be invited to take the Sisterhood's abaya...)

[Don Nadie]

The Side of Righteousness

"It sounds like a goodbye", he said, softly.
"He must have meant a good deal to you"
A nod. A confession and a surrender:
"It is. He did".

Before us, my latest Hidden Poem.
About broken things, between broken things.
(There's nothing like setting Art in its place)

"Things can mend", he added. "I'm sure you will"
A brief pat on the shoulder, encouraging.
(Why did it feel like I stab? Because I hate feeling vulnerable)
(Because I hate letting others see me, vulnerable)

The air was dusty. Broken tables, ash.
A featherless sphinx, its empty eyes watching us.
Nothing left here to do, save dwelling.
So I turned arround, towards the exit.

"It is as it is. And it is done"
"Out of my heart and into the world"

I lit a cigarette.
(How carelessly it comes, the self-destructive gesture)
(The crutch of smoke, filling my lungs, burning)

"Enough self-pitying for today"

And so I left him to speak with Akna, for she called, to make other her Magistrate with my acquiescence.
And so I joined him again, to thank him with some falafels, for I felt I had been rude, just calling when he was needed, and thus I learnt he hand't decided his side in the Great Falafel Wars of Ephia's Well.
And so we bought falafels from Mro Pro and Xu Yi, and grabbed Athelia, who hadn't tried them yet, and climbed atop the Pyramid.
And so I made a speech about the War that rages in our city, between two chefs.
And so I made them choose, whilst making it clear there was a side of Righteousness... And a side of Darkness and pork meat.
He chose Righteousness. She, meat. Apparently, she didn't like the spicey taste of Mro Pro's love. I made a great fuss about it.
And we laughed a bit. And jested a bit. And grew melancholic a bit, remembering what we remembered of our homes, and their foods.

And it was all a good distraction.

[Don Nadie]

So Am I

Thrust, slash, dodge, cut.
These caverns, of all places,
the place she chose to chat.

"We are friends, yes?", she asked.
"We are", I addmitted.
"Then please, for our friendship."
"Talk to her"

The skittering, the pincers.
The cluttering and swarming, so like her coterie.
The poison-drippling fangs, her venom.

"Why? It'll be a waste of time"
"I'm done forgiving her. I'm done tolerating her"
She frowned, in the midsts of battle, focused on this, too.
"She's open to cooperation..."

Cooperation. So oft repeated.
I wonder if she understands the meaning of that word.

"She doesn't want cooperation, she wants control"
"She wants us to accept the leash, that's what she calls cooperation"
"And I'm no dog"

What were the excuses she presented? This most unlikely of Ambassadors?
Disrespect that we chose Assembly over a private meeting.
Betrayal that I stopped inviting her to my digs and delves.
Annoyance that I decided to keep fighting for my own independence.
Excuses. And I tire of her excuses.

"You know what she did when she passed her latest Law?"
"She cackled. Then told me /now/ we could cooperate"
I gritted my teeth, stabbed something horrible, perhaps too strongly.
Ichor splashing my face.
"Even though I had been guiding and teaching more Nadiris, on archaeology, than any Apothar"
A claw to my arm, a wince. The spilling of blood.
The refreshing soothing touch of waters.
"She had cooperation", I added, "she wanted submission"

I felt my ears burning, a buzzing beyond the sounds of the insects.
As though to her every chain, I should've bowed.
Thankful, that she graciously /allowed/ me to know.

"She just doesn't understand other method than control and intrigue, Alejandro"
"But she's suffered a lot, lost a lot"
"She tried to kill you", I pointed out.
"Well", she shrugged, "she didn't try that hard"

We moved through the tunnels, we pushed through our foes.
Many-legged, many-eyed, many-fanged.
And I was thankfull, to have something I could legally stab.
As she reiterated this, her pity. The poor woman, who's lost so much.
Who's suffered so much. Who's endured so much.
Excuses. I tire of her excuses.
Many people suffer. Only she changed like this.

"She's hurting, Alejandro", she said, at last.
And I don't know why that broke me.

I felt the soreness of my muscles, the aching of my bones.
The piercing pain in my head, the buzzing in my ears.
The cracks, deep in my heart.
I felt my lungs burning and I couldn't hold it.
         

              I screamed. My voice shutting down the spiders, for a moment.
                   Echoing, like a curse, through the tunnels, my scream:

"SO AM I!"

We battled, we fought, we won. She asked once more, as a friend.
I, for a friend, acquiesced.

There are few things I won't do for a friend, I suppose.
There are few things I wouldn't have done for her,
when I still forced myself to think of her that way.
But Spokes, do I tire of excusing her behaviour.

(As though I shouldn't mind how she used Domhnall.
And how Domhnall chose her. Despite this.
Again and again. Above me.)

[Don Nadie]

A Decent Day

I finished! I finished the entire, Spokes-dammed chapter!

Goodness, how hard it was to summarize all the events of those first months! How strange to delve through the ancient Bellow-records and find the words of Marcellus, of Lynneth, of Aubrey... What an odd thing. To go back.

(Was I happier then? Or was I better at holding the image? Pretending that things were fine? Was I happier or was the performance easier?)
 
Whatever. The job was finished. It was a well done job. Not even Mae, whining in the Bellows without even reading it, could spoil it. Not even that other weirdo, accusing me of being duplicitous... Though I guess, unlike Mae, those accusations do bear some resemblance to truth. Only an idiot would think just because I always smile that I am always being friendly, after all.

Regardless, they couldn't bring me down. I felt giddy and childish and cheerful. I chatted with Clarissant, who seemed to be going through something precisely because of trusting Mae. I took Elias out for a dig, and made him sweat (he is not cut out for physical labor) and gifted him the mirror he dug. I found a couple interesting things. I spent time with friends. I heard about their concerns, and their tales. I jested with them.

That's something. It really is something.

Sometimes, it almost feels like its enough.

[Don Nadie]

Advocacy

An outrageous amount of evidence.
An absurdity of clear charges.
And a once-friend. Perhaps still. Madman, for certain.
By the flip of a coin, I was set to defend him.

"Must you call me an idiot a hundred times?", he asked, in a whisper.

I could've strangled the imbecile. So reckless.

"Yes"

At least it was won. Or as won as it could be. The irony?
Mae Stern, of all people.
Complaining that someone was given time, to repair the harm caused.

[Don Nadie]

Friend

"I am a bit paranoid", I whispered.

In my hands, the bundle, back. Secrets best kept safe.
(So many secrets to be exchanged, in a secret room)
(In the Center, where things are hidden)
(And Truth - or something close to it - gathers dust)

"I want to go. I also don't want him to"

She smiled, gapped teeth, dusty cheeks.

"Well, those may be the horns of the dilemma, partner"

I paused. I shrugged.

"Not really a dilemma. Akna asked. As a friend"
"And I don't deny friends"

A little, ironic chuckle in the dusty room.
The books and me, the only witnesses.

"That is like you, isn't it?"
"Loyalty is a very vexing virtue"

I paused. I smirked. I shrugged.
I am good at hiding, but I can't hide from some truths.

"I am not the best, or nicest, or most reliable person", I said.
"But I try to be a loyal friend".

[Don Nadie]

The Subtlety of a Groknak

One thing that's been sorely missing since my departure is subtlety. I knew what was afoot the minute they all started making Bellows for vials, with Elyse seeming nervous and fidgety, with Aurelio looking stern and distant. As though carrying some unspoken feud with me (my absence, I imagine, for these matters). I suppose you can't ask a bundle of knights to be tricksters.

Just saying that when I planned a secret expedition, nobody heard about it.

I may have been quicker than the Jannisaries, but I can only imagine they knew, too. That is probably why at least the two decent petals of the Rose were not mad enough to follow Vico.

Still, he went. I was asked who I thought would be worse, to access the depths. I can certainly think of a few people (Diakos, apparently, was one of the possible buyers) but not that many. To know he was down there, seeing who knows what, ignorant and unseen, was a concern. I felt also, bitterly jealous. Had she not asked me, I probably would've found a way to join him, consequences be damned.

The wait, however. It was tense. It was worrisome. It was not exactly unexpected, either, when the ground trembled like a groaning, hungry stomach. Beasts. Demons. Gods. Dormant horrors. Mystery and Revelation, entwinned, like lovers.

That, and more.

B
¡Euoi!
e
Σ ε ύ k ε ι ρ ρ υ ς
l
¡Euoi!
o
put, on my lips,
w
the bitter taste of Revelation

[Don Nadie]

In Old Places

In old places the air is thin, with truth
                                                              with loss                                                                 of the Ages
                                                                                                       with the passing
    Therein, all seems lighter.

The sword that rings echoes the silversmith's hammer.
The dust that blows reminds of the glassworker's flute
The wails speak of ancient chanting, of joyous gods for joyous peoples

The Ashtorm bites, yet in its bitting
                                  one is reminded
                                                of ancient refuge.

And for a moment one can breathe again. And the weight of one's past is lifted with the veils of Ignorance. Arrows whistle, axes bite, yet in their bitting, back to back, friends are found. Refuge, made. Battle, won. In seeking, we come to know one another.

The air thinner and thinner as we trudge through the ruins. Mystery and Revelation embrace tightly (like lovers).

                                                                      And one teaches, and one shares.
One guides, in the darkness, others
                                             showing just enough to let them find their path
                                                                                                                 for darkness and light, too, are embracing.                  (like lovers)

                                      And in old places, one finds unexpected flowers.
Blooming, pink and bright, and joyful.
                                             Cheeks, flushed with delight.
                                                                                                      At leaves, of all things.
                           

And so it is that                                                                                                                                                                                     
                                  in old                                                                                                                                                               
                                                places                                                                                                                                                 
                                                              one can find                                                                                                                     
                                                                               that the Moon                                                                                       
stands                                                                       
                                                                                          so                                                                                       
                                                                                very                                                                                                   
                                                                    still                                                                                                                 
                                                         it                                                                                                                                   
                                                is                                                                                                                                         
                                     almost                                                                                                                                                     
                          like                                                                                                                                                                         
               going                                                                                                                                                                                 
  backwards.                                                                                                                                                                                                 

And one is happy, in old places.

"You know much of betrayal", he seethed.
Before his ancient altar. This Murderer, judging me.
"But better to die truthful", he added,
"than to live a worm"

(Yet the arrow of Time goes ever forward)
(It ever arches upon the sky, it ever occludes the sun)
(it always foundfindswillfind the heart)

Still. For a moment, often
One can find a strange joy in old places.

[Don Nadie]

On Joys and Sorrows

He called for me, wanting to talk. It had been long, without a talk.
And I was eager, too. I had seen too often those two blue vultures, rounding him.
I feared that, perhaps, they shaped him. That perhaps he believed them.
That perhaps they were eating at our friendship, like others ate at my friendship with Mae.
But there he was. Soft and sturdy. His melancholia, of stones. His sadness, of the Ages.

"This one's sorrow is easy to see in eyes, in words", he pondered.
"But the sorrow of Alejandro."
"Most do not see it."

I lowered my eyes to my glass. Arround us, the gossip of Ambassadors.
I felt exposed. To feel exposed is to feel weak.
Strangely, it is also to feel cared for. And loved.

"Artists, like you said", he added.
There was a tenderness in his tone, which made me almost smile.
"Two sides"

.

The conversation turned and changed as conversations do.
I felt sinking, slowly, as they talked of violence, of politics.
(The only reason I didn't lit a cigarette was Elias would smite me)

"I was a bit more... Optimistic?", he ventured.
On his hands, cloths. Making bandages while we chatted.
Those soft hands, made for flowers, and perfume. Forced to tend to wounds.
"An election cycle does the job of taking some of those illusions out of play rather quickly"

There we were, both of them, sworn to healing.
While I wield the sword. While I intrigue.
Incompetently, sure. But can I deny that I sometimes like it?
I see the first entries in these notes, and the boy who lammented, from the heart, that he had to kill...
Is he gone? Is he buried? Did I have to bury him to endure?
Can I lie, and pretend it doesn't feel good, to win by force or by guile?
In politics or in battle, equally foul arenas.

"One ends up having to play /some/ of the game", I whispered.
"And it is a horrible one, and it withers you", I added.
"But, not participating?"
"That just leaves the game off to those who do not mind if their heart withers..."
A pause, before an admission.
"But it shapes you, like violence. Even if you know it's horrible"
"You end up finding... Not exactly pride"
"But satisfaction".

He leaned back. His gaze seemed ancient.
His posture, fatigued. Who knows how many ways he was broken, before.
But he looked at me, attentively, with a kindness that I feel is beyond me.
While Elias focused on his needles and instruments. Shifting them aimlessly.

Like a tide that rises, so did we felt increasingly drowned in melancholia.
As Zol Nur said I should run, despite my love of lies and tobacco.
As I protested. As we discussed the nature of lies and the nature of art.
As we returned to politics, and its weariness. Tired of it all.

Yet suddenly, like a spark, we both thought the same. We proposed, instead, to talk of the week's joys, to turn to what made us happy. We hadn't spoken in a while, after all...

"I earned an Epoch", said my ancient friend.
"I tried falafels", smiled my self-appointed doctor.

I chuckled, softly. There were many things to say, many joys. The success of my chapter, the discoveries in the sands, the hiding of my poem. But there was a main one I could state:

"I spent time with good friends"