Rain strikes stone as I write this. Thunder echoes, yet no lightning arcs the sky. A strange sort of storm, to be sure.
The storm intensifies. Some chatter about monsters in the dark, but I know better. Here, monsters wait quietly in the shallows. They do not crash through foliage. They do not bellow into the night. When Sithis takes us, we do not hear him coming.
My lids droop like sodden boughs and I must rest. Send my regards to Teemata. May your path be fertile and kissed by sun.