Sect Year 4 · eleventh month · day 3, evening · the Serai post-house, at the delta’s edge
The post-house bench had been worn smooth in the middle by a hundred travelers’ hips, and Lin sat at one end of it with his pack against his knee and the letter in his hands. The lamp on its hook above him had been lit when he came in from the landing, and the keeper had trimmed its wick twice since.
Outside the shutters the lanterns along the road had begun to glow, one after another, each on its own post. Their light lay across the flagged yard in long yellow bars. Lin had watched the first few come alight, and he hadn’t meant to count them. He found he had started, and stopped, and did not want to start again.
He broke the wax with his thumb. It was thin and pale, and it cracked cleanly along the fold. Inside were two sheets of plain paper, written close on both sides in a hand that had grown steadier since the spring. He knew it at once. It leaned a little to the right, as though it were hurrying to keep up with its own thoughts.
