17th October 2160

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My Taya,

Six hundred and fifty-three. Can you believe it?

A sole diet of Eucheuma in recent weeks brings with it a fair few drawbacks; notably a thirst which I have difficulty quenching, what with the muggy and tainted waters which relentlessly lap at the walls of my residence. Despite daily droughts dehydrating myself and Sha (the others I have seen very little of which I am most thankful for, as you can imagine) the city is still partially submerged. Of course, as you are aware the atmospheric conditions can be rather temperamental and so sustenance is scarce. Fortunately, as my predictions tend to be correct, it is with great joy that I can inform you that I predict a further months drought ahead of us and so we must take advantage of this occasion; this blessing. It is New-Winter after all. It is likely that our dear Lloyd shall coerce you and the others to collect meat, materials and munitions in preparation for the impending "Season of Wrath" (I wonder whether you still flex this moniker.)

Our abode is surely what it is – though it is becoming quite a stretch to refer to it as such. Alec, as ever, is dismissive of our dwelling, branding it as "so dilapidated as to be essentially uninhabitable" though I prefer to ignore that vexatious voice replaying at the back of my mind. Several days ago the Bakery, the pretty wreck of a building, saw its hinges give way to erosion and collapsed in the flash of a moment. Unfortunately, this episode prompted some stagnant trapped water to flood across the way to ours. I am most pleased with the resplendent view of the city that the collapse has left us with; a quaint undergrowth matted city that succumbed to a peace we could all but dream of.

I pray that God enlightens you during your travels and I pray that the weather is most kind – I implore you to bask in the tropics and as ever be wary of pursuers.

Yours,

T

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