I visited Loverett again today, after Jason had returned his tooth. Loverett was sitting all alone in his room, with the lights out, his thick carapace pulled closely around him. I tried to get a few words out of him, but he resisted. Finally, he spoke: "After you stole my tooth, I couldn't speak to anyone. It was so horrible."

"I didn't steal it," I insisted.

"I thought I was going to die. I thought I was already dead." I didn't think he would be this upset. Instead of trying to get on with business, I left him there in his room, both so that he could recover a bit more and so that I could figure out the best way to get through to him.

The bloodstain from Tuesday is beginning to spread. And itch. That's just like chlo'jo' to go touching things she shouldn't. But you see blood, you want to taste it.

Again I am happy when I don't fight myself, and unhappy when I try to aspire to some ultra-divine or ultra-beneficient ideal. But now I'm off to Sewer City, and I don't know what will happen. I need to learn about sand, sewers, and salamandrine spirits.