Sun day

Oct 19, 2008.

Today I brushed Nima’s hair, and I took sweet nut oil and a comb and applied it gently. So treated, the color is less harsh, the grey a shade of storm clouds and not the brittle crunch of gravel. Meyni paused to look in on us, leaving apparently satisfied that her mother did not need her. Nimaseki’s lips turned pale after she left. I told Meyni this evening that her mother needs her company, not just her care, and I do not think I did much good. There is a misunderstanding of each others’ character there that I do not begin to know how to solve, though I am tempted as ever to wade into the fray.

It was after sunset when I returned to my own chambers. My eyes ached, my fingers cramping. Nima and I had sewn for most of the day, until the sun faded. We have worked out way through some of her tremendous piles and baskets of scraps and mending. She was very capable and sewed in her every free moment, before the gods stole her fingers’ flexibility and left her with knuckles swollen and red with pain.

It is so strange to write with someone else in the room. The bed moves beneath me, his breath stirs my hair, and my ink almost spills onto the bedspread. I think I miss having a desk, but there is a warmth here.

Sev was home when I returned, eating dinner with the children and being informed in bright, hurried tones of their numerous adventures.

“Did you really almost burn down the lodging house while I was away?” He asked me.

“Of course not, my lord husband. Have you enough tea?”

“Most certainly, my lady wife. Please be seated, and tell me about your latest endeavor. It seems, in truth, that I cannot keep up.”

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