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Dear Vesta,
My love, I know I’ve said it, but I am so grateful for your steady presence in my life even as I’ve been a wavering reed, a dandelion fluff in the wind.
I am really, really shaken by the cataclysm we witnessed at home.
It might be the rumors getting to me, but…I don’t know when I can bear to be home again. Disaster seems to follow in our footsteps, sometimes. I wanted chase danger, make the world safer, like the stories I hear of my mothers before me, and yet—often it seems the real problem appears after our arrival. In my darkest moments I feel like a herald of death. Irrational, I know, I don’t want to worry you, but…I don’t know. I miss you already. I will correspond more as promised. But I can’t come home, not yet.
I wasn’t much use at home in the rebuilding efforts, anyway. Beyond a touch of healing (which, we have almost an abundance of focused medics, magic and not) my magic, which has come in spurts, has developed into more and more powerful forms of flame. I don’t seem to have much ability to direct that impulse as my magic grows. I think many at home would prefer never to see a lick of flame again in their lives. I lit the hearth in the healing camp to boil water to clean bandages, and saw six people flinch, and a seventh succumb to an intense shaking, shuddering bout at the sight, worsened when I tried to approach. The real medics shooed me away hurriedly and helped him breathe. I waited at a distance to see that he recovered before I slinked off.
Please hold down the fort in my absence. The threat is temporary, it must be, when we eliminate it I will feel safe to return. I may visit again in the meantime but I will keep it brief—feel free to visit me, if you desire a change of scenery. I will arrange your safe passage if you need it.
With all the love in my heart,
Sayed