Egg sister,
Rain strikes stone as I write this. Thunder echoes, yet no lightning arcs the sky. A strange sort of storm, to be sure.
We had hoped to make the pass at Mud Tree, but weather and hardship have forced us through Alten Corimont. I had not hoped to write until Hissmir and am glad for the diversion.
The storm intensifies. Some chatter about monsters in the dark, but I know better. Here, monsters wait quietly in the shallows. They do not crash through foliage. They do not bellow into the night. When Sithis takes us, we do not hear him coming.
My lids droop like sodden boughs and I must rest. Send my regards to Teemata. May your path be fertile and kissed by sun.
Stay moist,
Oleenla
