More Dustweed [18 Hispis 4261]
I spent a good deal of last night on the stove in contemplation. Dustweed spent a good deal of it on the bed in Tethezai, so the stove was the natural place to think. And to muse. And to meditate. Though I must confess to doing almost six parts contemplating and three parts thinking to each part of mediation, and the musing is barely worth a mention.
Oh, and there were some fifteen parts fretting in there as well.
Now, if I were as excellent a friend as I would hope to have my own friends be to me, I would have been contemplating, thinking, meditating, musing, and, I suppose, fretting about Thery and Yarwain and their friend-or-enemy the Countess Gloun. Which is what all my conversations that day had been about, to say nothing of the mellow, dramatic, melodramatic events.
Actually, I was fretting about what I would say to Ghirbis.
In the morning, all of my elegant phrases had flown from my head. I simply scratched at Ghirbis' window at a decent time, and flew in when she opened it like any reasonable person. Well, any Zi-risonable person.
And told her that I would like to invite Dustweed as our last roommate in Quendry House.
She expressed surprise in a long and complicated song, some of which is:
Some days Reluu's face is seen in the South,
Some days birds sprout from buds,
Some days an Orren will have a closed mouth,
Some days a Cani won't have any friends,
Some days you buy iron for the price of fresh cheese
Some days a Khtsoyis will earn more than he spends,
But no days did I think to hear news such as these!
She didn't ask me why. But I was asking myself that for some time and a half -- both "why" and "why not" -- and in the end, about half past midnight when zie was still taking up our shared room with zir lover -- I realized that, when one takes action against a countess with another, with no great discussion of the matter, the one and the another share a kind of trust and commonality that one might not with one's everyday friends. And such a trust is not a thing that should casually be broken, nor tossed aside.
I will regret this for the next ten thousand years. But I think I would regret not doing it for fifteen thousand.