Diary: Page Thirty-two

Sometimes it’s the little things. “Good evening, Ladies” and a bow, an offered arm on a long walk, the gift of a flower. Little things, and I’d forgotten how nice they could be.

I’m glad they talked, Tabaqui and Kharak. I thought maybe I was wrong, but I wasn’t, and I hate it when people I like are upset with each other.

Distrust. Back to that topic again. Seems I exist in that discussion and no other right now. Tabaqui’s reacting out of fear and mistaking Kharak’s meaning. Those of us responding with suspicion to Pneuma’s questions. Myself, furious with Shorok over enquiries behind my back. Maybe Pneuma’s right: it’s sad that distrust is the first response.

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