Vald, helvede, you will think your very obedient

Anders has lost his wits.

I was quizzing Delfin today about courtship in the fathoms below, for one should never pass on the opportunity to expand one's repertoire, and whether there was a special be-finned man in her life who now pines in her absence, when she positively glared at me and muttered that I should not encourage gossip.

"The word 'gossip' implies the existence of someone to whom the information can be passed on," said I. And indicating our surroundings, "We have not passed a single confidable person in more than an hour."

"Aslong as there are flowers on every side, the witch will hear your foolishness."

Vald, I am so absolutely dense. The witch of the flowers said she "had heard from the flowers of Bier". I am still cursing myself for not figuring it out sooner, for the ignominy of having the obvious pointed out to me. The witch of the flowers is of all the flowers, not just the one in the meadow where we encountered her corporeal form. I must admit, it is not entirely a comfortable thought – do you recall, Vald, if anything blooms near our swimming hole? And what of the flowers growing in the box outside the windows of my rooms?

Delfin is more inured to it because her father was the same. "He is the king of the sea: anywhere the sea is there he has eyes and ears. It is why to think I went to the surface, and how I saw the prince."

"Your father could hear thoughts?"

"No. But still I wanted out from the crushing of his presence to think thoughts he would not like."

A thought occurred to me, "The king of how much of the sea are we talking about?"

"All the sea."

"All of the sea?"

"Yes." Again the blank face I love so well.

"That's logistically impossible."

"It is not like – I cannot tell you what it is like without disgusting you."

A foolish misstep on her part; now I was intrigued.

"The king of the sea is spawned in an hundred eggs at the same time; ninety-nine males and one female to hatch the next kings. We are not like humans with your souls and your ... differences. My father is the king of the sea and is the same as eighty-two others who are the king of the sea."

"But you're different." She seemed nonplussed by the clear conclusion to be drawn from her words. "There are not merfolk leaping out of the sea every other day to see what they might see. You're different."

"Don't imagine me to be something I am not."

"Such as what?"

Casting about tree-bristled gully through which we rode for inspiration, she finally landed upon, "Special."

I leaned over and patted her hand in a friendly way. "There will come a day when you tire of insulting my intelligence and what a splendid day that will be."

Can you imagine it, Vald? If we could convince a witch to side with the Danmarches? Ears and eyes to aid and abet us wherever there are flowers or lake or mountains. For helvede, or woods – why does the girl have to be so forpulede opaque? Why not just say the witch of the woods can be in any forest found on the way? I will murder her in her sleep yet, Vald, and not shed a tear. However, my further trials and tribulations with Angel Feet not withstanding, I shall look into it. It would make us great.

My very dear readers, I have noticed that some writers find it needful to apologise when their chapters get below a certain length - I have no such intention for I prefer chapter under a thousand words - but I would like to have it entered on the public record that I am aware these letters are getting shorter. The simple reason for that is Anders is writing more frequently, and of more everyday things of interest, because of the dragon. It's like a person who has written letters all his life suddenly having access to email - only a matter of time before he devolves to twitter and status updates. I'm just kidding . . . or am I?

Ah, Captain, my nemesis, my friend, how I am enjoying this turn of events. Also, if the literary tour had spanned out to the wider environs of the City, the gully they're riding through would have been on it.