Tomorrow is the day of light and darkness, when the day and night stand equal and night starts creeping in. Indoors as I keep myself, it seems unlikely to affect me, but it is strange to miss the remembrance of the day.
Sev tells me little of his plans lately, and I must fret and avoid worrying, both at once, for to not know is safer.
There is a certain kindness in silence. The silence of the secret-keeper, who does kindness by his own honor. The kindness of the rebel, who does not trouble others with his words. To ask uncomfortable questions, to demand action, they burden others with a weight better carried alone. You keep silent, not because you are afraid, but out of compassion. Should you ask others to report you, to watch you disappear before the sun dawns, as mist on the lake? Should you ask them to keep silent for you? No, neither is kind. Neither does anyone any good.
This is not a problem to be solved by talking, after all, for words are the domain of women and old men. Youngsters such as Sev and I must to the battlefield – I to watch, and him to fight.
I am thoughtful today.
Naught for it but to take my weary eyes to bed, and warmth.