Dear Mother and Father,
I meant to go back to the mines as soon as I was finished with my hike, but I haven't left yet. I know I am not equipped to stay out here shivering in my home-sewn mimmoth furs indefinitely. In fact, I can no longer feel my fingers and am shocked that this page seems to be legible so far. There isn't anything here that I absolutely must see. In fact, I got to the opposite side of the river earlier today and found little of enduring interest. I found a shepherd's house with a spooky pagan altar at the back of it, and down closer to the river, there was a log-cutting place whose owner gave me a most displeased look when I ventured too near. I didn't stay around there for very long, naturally. I hate upsetting the neighbors.
All the frogs have gone into hibernation by now, and I don't believe the Steelhead region has a single whippoorwill. Perhaps in the latter case, they haven't any work to do when there aren't head-stealing sea monsters about.
In any case, I am now back at the little water-mill. That is to say, I'm not exactly on the property, but near enough to it on the opposite side of the road that I can see it between the trees whenever I wish. I am confused. I am not so certain that the blonde lady is Miss Gearbox's mother after all. She treats the children more as a friend and peer would than as a mother would. It's as if she has absolutely no desire to maintain control of them. I've not heard her give a mandatory order this entire time. Perhaps she is a much-older sister. You've told me that you have a soft spot for me that only a biological parent can have, but what the blonde lady displays is far more than a soft spot. She lets the young ones talk back to her when they don't agree. I haven't heard her use any aduts-only words when they do something that might be frustrating. And I've not once seen her box anyone's ears. She reminds me more of Valdy than of you, despite being completely unlike a Jaegerperson. My curiosity binds me to this place. I hope nobody minds. Perhaps they'll all be mad at me when they discover I've been spying. I know grownups always, always find out what foolish children have been up to. Perhaps I should just march up to them and turn myself in; perhaps I ought to be as honest with them as I've learned to be with you.
I miss you both, you know. I cannot count how many times I have wished you were here to help me know right from wrong. I'm sure a lot of things would have to change if you were. I would have to stop addressing you as mere friends and start giving you the respect a parent deserves. The format of my long-winded yet detail-deficient letters could not persist in up-close interactions with you. And perhaps also, you might calm down your God for me. I'm sure I've annoyed him a great deal in the past three quarters of a year, and you've not been present to patch things up for me. I really don't know how I've made it this far without you.
Love,
Shaqad
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