#1 Multilingual 

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To greet politely the apartment caretaker and to enter the tree-house.
To ascend and stop before the door.
To check, one last time, ones outfit. To straighten up ones shoulders. To breath a big inspiration.
To knock the door.
To smile to ones mother who’s opening the door.

Usual ritual of holeth lunchtime.

Like every time, Copal entered the apartment and bowed slightly before his mother: “Deles silam lumnimae.”
Like every time, she smiled back to him and kissed him softly: “Deles silam na nidram.”

Behind her, seated at the table, his father glared at him in silence. Wrapped in his usual disapproval.
Copal greeted him prudently with a nod: “Deles silam valyenimae.”
Then he seated in his place. His back straight. His head high.
His father kept silent. An obvious sign that he had found a new gripe to reproach him for.

Copal kept a carefully flat face.
For once, he had hoped for a different reception.

His mother brought the dishes, and all murmured the prayer to Jena.
Then the meal started.
Oppressive atmosphere, that his mother tried to lighten by talking about this and that.
She began to say one by one the names of the young hominas of the neighbourhood. Asking her son what he thought of one or the other.

Copal mumbled vague answers, and kept his eyes on his plate.
How could he explain to his mother that these hominas, however charming, seemed to him now so dull compared to the ladies of the Chamber of the Nobles?
That they were only pale floret in the shade of these magnificent rotoas?
Of course, the flowers of the Chamber weren’t for him. He knew too well that he wasn’t the gardener who’d pick them.
Not counting that some had bloody thorns.
He felt himself blush at some of his memories and coughed to hide his confusion.

He drank some wine, saving time to pull himself together.
He shouldn’t have coughed. His mother was now worrying about his health.
Was he eating properly? Was he sleeping enough? Was he covering up enough when he was going out? Wasn’t his work too tiring?

Copal put his glass back. He looked at it without seeing it. Waiting for the paternal explosion.
Which didn’t take long.
“His work? What work? Moving old dusty parchments around all day long, is no work!”

His father was a warrior.
He had covered the retreat during the Second Exodus. He now was protecting Avalae as a guard.
And Copal had always respected and admired him for that.
But he only believed in his pike.
His son’s administrative career was a shame in his eyes. A stain on his name.
Of course, Nobles could be poets. And there was grandeur in being a renowned botanist or artisan. But pen-pusher in the archives was worse than useless.

Copal forced himself to count till ten before answering calmly: “We all serve the Kingdom in our own way, valyenimae.”
His father’s growl turned into a roar.
“Serving? You’re calling that serving?
Getting yourself knocked down by a kitin kilometres away from Avalae without even hitting him, it’s serving?
Wandering in the Hovel with no weapon and counting on your comrades to protect you, it’s serving?
Nattering like a Tryker instead of fighting, it’s serving?”

So, he had heard about his trip with the botanist. And about the kiban that had attacked the rear of their group.
Copal’s hand went instinctively to his chest.
His comrades had lifted him up. But he remembered the pain.

“Ser Cuiccio Perinia had no weapon either. But he was serv…”
His father cut him off, hard-voiced.
“Don’t compare yourself to the Royal Botanist. You don’t have a hundredth of his skills.
Actually, you have no skill.
You’re no warrior. May Jena save us.
You’re no artisan.
You’re no savant.
You’re not even an artist.
What good does it do to spend your time in the middle of the poetry books and amber cubes of our greatest thinkers, if you’re not even capable of taking something of it?
You can do nothing. Nothing.
You’re just a parasite of the Kingdom.
Are you even a Matis?”

Copal heard a surprised gasp.
His mother had put her hand before her mouth when hearing the biting conviction of her spouse.

Copal had dreamed one hundred times of this day’s meal.
What he would say. What his father would answer.
He had hoped for his parents to be proud of him.
Ten times, twenty times, he had put on the whole new badge before his polished amber mirror.
Ten times, twenty times, he had removed it. Uncertain.
Finally, he had left it at home.
A bit because he didn’t really feel worthy of it. He was only there to assist serae Boreale, after all.
But especially because he was so certain that his father would already know about it. As he had known about the least of his gaffes. Real or imaginary ones.
But no.

He looked at his hands, placed on the table.
Strangely, they weren’t shaking. They weren’t twisting.
He felt composed. Really.

For the first time in a very long time, he rose his eyes and dared to sustain his father’s glare.
His mother was already opening her mouth to fix what could be.
To say that it was just that they didn’t understand each other. That the words shouldn’t be considered just like that. That all this had to be seen only as the normal wish of a father who wanted the best for his son. And that, of course, they were both loving him.
He had already heard such speech. Too often. Even if never after so harsh words.

But not this time.

“You’re right, valyenimae.”

His voice was calm and controlled. It surprised him.
His mother stopped, open-mouthed.

“I’m not a powerful warrior.
Nor a talented artisan.
Nor a great savant.
Nor a renowned artist…”

He paused, his eyes still on the stern face of this father.

“But whatever you think, I’m no parasite.
I’m a Matis.
And I’m serving my Karan.
The way it pleases Him the best.”

He saw his father go red, ready to explode once more. He hurried to talk before him.

“At the last Chamber of the Nobles in Avalae, I’ve been appointed Royal Scribe by Duke Rodi di Varello.
The Karan himself confirmed my appointment before the whole of the Nobles of the Kingdom gathered in the Throne Room.
I know it. I was there.”

It sounded so grandiloquent, said like that.
He felt he had to correct a bit.
“I’m fully aware that it doesn’t turn me into someone important.
That I’m only a servant among a lot of others.
And that if the Nobles stand my presence among them, it doesn’t mean I’m one of them.”

He didn’t dare to add that the Karan had probably only been reading some notes passed to Him by a councelor.
The Karan had told his name. And all the Nobles had heard it. It was all that mattered: his father couldn’t say anymore that he was dishonouring his name.

His father, currently, seemed to have turned into a statue.
Copal glanced to his mother. She was still open-mouthed. But she looked less panicked and more impressed.

He desperately searched for something to break the strange silence that followed his declaration.
“But I won’t let you say I’m useless.
Not when the Karan himself decided differently.”
It wasn’t much of a conclusion. He preferred to drink some wine before adding the word that would ruin everything.
He suddenly felt exhausted.

His mother finally took care of filling the silence. First in a shy and then more and more confident voice.
“Oh, you went to Yrkanis. There have been years since I last went to the Great Greenhouse…”
She continued for a while to detail her last tour over the place. Accumulating unimportant details.
Both homins, as for them, finished their meal in a prudent mutism.

When he finally went back home, Copal contemplated for a long time the badge of his office.
So many hopes. So many responsibilities. In such a small thing.
Finally, he hooked it on his vest and started working.
Whether reading a paper or thinking every and each word, the Karan had entrusted him with a task. He had to prove himself worthy of it.
His father’s opinion was of no importance in front of this.
And, who knows, maybe serae Boreale would smile to him again.

Last edited by Copal (7 years ago) | Reason: Version anglaise

#2 Multilingual 

Multilingual | Français | [English]
To return the respectful salute of the caretaker and to enter the tree house.
To ascend and stop before the door.
To check, one last time, ones outfit. To adjust ones insignia and straighten up the ones of ones House. To breath slowly.
To knock the door.
To smile to ones mother who’s opening the door.

Usual ritual of holeth lunchtime.

Like every time, Copal entered the apartment and bowed slightly before his mother: “Deles silam lumnimae.”
Like every time, she smiled back to him and kissed him softly: “Deles silam na nidram.” With a light move of her hand, she smoothed out an imaginary fold on the uniform of his House. Straightening up in passing his Royal Scribe insignia that hadn’t moved yet.

Behind her, seated at the table, his father was waiting in silence. Like every time. An upset silence today.
Copal bowed respectfully: “Deles silam valyenimae.”
The old warrior answered with a nod: “Deles silam nidram”.
Copal sat at his place. Hiding his relief. He wasn’t the source of the irritation that was veiling his father’s eyes and had him screw up his lips.

His mother brought the dishes, and all murmured the prayer to Jena.
Then the meal started.
And with it, the long list of questions. His mother wanted to know everything about her son’s connections.

So Copal had to reel of, once again, the litany of all the Nobles he had met closely or not in the past few days. Even the ones who hadn’t granted him the least glance.
To give news from his House leader. As if wearing the same colours as the Viscount of Avalae turned him into one of his close friends.
To tell the least details of the last Chamber of the Nobles. While his mother had probably already read ten times his report carefully transcribed in the archives. And to remember to expurgate any reference to the eccentricities of the former Clerk of the Court.
To detail the outfits worn by the Karae’s Ladies in Waiting at every occasion. And, finally, let his mother speak. So that she could go into ecstasies at leisure about the fashion show organized by Ser Mendell, the new Royal Couturier. Once more.

He wouldn’t complain about the exalted pride of his mother on his account. No. Definitively not.
But if she could have taken a bit more interest in him. And a bit less in the ones he was meeting.
He refrained from sighing.

His father was still chewing vigorously and was staring straight ahead of him. Finally, he swallowed the last mouthful with a drop of wine.
He turned nonetheless kindly to his spouse: “It was delicious, nae mindalae.”
She accepted the compliment with a graceful nod: “Fila, my spouse.”
Copal smiled to his mother: “It was delicious, lumnimae. It’s always a pleasure to eat what you cook.”
His mother smiled back. “Fila. It’s always a pleasure when you visit us.”
She took the empty dish. Then she left the homins among themselves.

Copal turned finally to his father.
This one was returning his glaze. Seemed to weigh him. To search… something.
“You were at this… that… this tournament.”
It wasn’t really a question. But Copal nodded: “Sil”. Wondering which word his father had held back.
“You’ve seen the… kamists.”
Copal swallowed and nodded once again. Silently.
It wasn’t a nice memory.
“And you have heard the Karan.”
His father’s voice was more of a growl by now.
Copal refrained from frowning. You didn’t criticise the Karan. He was… the Karan. Sentence.
He nodded prudently.
“Honouring kamists! And Fyros! In our own lands!”
Copal thought for an instant that his father was going to spit on the ground. But he didn’t. His mother would probably not have accepted it.
“How could they do that?”
This time, Copal frowned. What was his father talking about?
But this one was started.
“They did not only let those woodheads win! But they also get humiliated even by mercenaries! Mercenaries! Two teams of Matis, and they both end last! That’s the kind of Nobles you’re serving? Not even capable of taking their responsibilities for their decisions?”
His father was looking at him. Visibly furious. Copal realized with amazement that he was not afraid. Not really in any case. New feeling that he was not accustomed to.
“The Viscount of Avalae fought. While Avalae had voted against the participation of the Fyros. Filirae Remigra fought, though she’s no seasoned warrior. La Firme provided also several fighters. But the aim wasn’t the victory of the Matis.
This time, it was a roar. And Copal jumped despite himself. But he got a grip on himself.
“The aim was to know if Serae Zendae had the skills for a Master of Arms. For a leader. She proved her worth on this point. And the Karan had her rewarded as fitted. And if some Fyros are wearing swords with the name of Jena, maybe they’ll find Her light.”
Copal had to admit he had been impressed with the way the Karan presented these weapons to the winners. He shouldn’t have. It was the Karan after all. He may have been forced, by the choices of His Nobles, to look contented in front of his abhorred enemies. But certainly not to the point of letting them brag after their victory.
His father was looking at him. Less furious probably, but not really convinced. And Copal had to admit that his argument was a bit poor.

All the Nobles who had voted in favour of opening the tournament to the Fyros hadn’t fought. And whatever he said publicly, the Karan would probably not be satisfied with the fighting skills he had seen. Serae Zendae would have lots to do.
The next Chamber of the Nobles would probably be heated.

But in the meantime, it was out of the question to let the people doubt about its nobility. And even less about the Karan.
So Copal was doing his share. And tried, on his level, to fix the damages caused by this defeat.
And he would never mention some of the exchanges he had witnessed. Nec. Never.

Last edited by Copal (7 years ago)

#3 Multilingual 

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Respond to Ciero Vivaldo's polite greeting and enter the house tree.
Open his door, and return to the calm of his apartment.
Breathe. Slowly.
Evacuate the tiredness that tightened his shoulders.

Copal went to sit down in front of his apartment rotoa. He immersed himself in the contemplation of the soft nuances of the flower. And he reviewed the course of the evening's events. He needed to put his thoughts in order.

Ambassador Nilstilar had invited him to attend an official meeting in Fairhaven.
Perhaps out of friendship. Perhaps to be less lonely.
Copal had no idea that the Ambassador needed any help. But now that he had had a glimpse of the meeting in question, he could imagine that the company of a fellow Matis might have been pleasant to him.

What a mess!
Everyone was talking at the same time. Or shouting. Even running ashore. And the guard said nothing. And there were barrels of drink everywhere. Even the Governor had a tankard in her hand! That was the governing body of the Federation?

And that Tryker!
Copal blew with exasperation.
Did he really believe that nobody saw him coming, with his false good intentions? Or was he so stupid as to believe them? And he claimed to be a commander? And he thought he was giving lessons in respect?

Copal forced himself to calm down.
Well, indeed. He had not shown much respect. The person had annoyed him quite a bit.
The worst thing was that he had almost put the Ambassador in an unpleasant position. So he had preferred to take his leave.
But before that, he had been able to hear the Governor muzzle and put a leash on her crazy ragus. The Karan would never have needed to do such a thing with the Mistress of Arms.

It was more than time to sleep.
Copal went to his room.
Tomorrow, he would go back to the Grove of Confusion to get flowers. The place was much better frequented than Frogmore Place. Maybe he would even see Serae Wu She-Peng and Serae Liosta Be'Zephy again.

#4 Multilingual 

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To take leave with as much dignity as possible and return to the tree-house.
To regain the intimacy of his apartment.
Hesitating between dancing and collapsing on the moss green floor.

Finally Copal went to immerse himself in the contemplation of his apartment rotoa.
Unfortunately this did not bring him the usual appeasement.
He stared at it without seeing it. His mind kept returning to the events of the day. Oscillated between exaltation and despair.

He had seen her again! They had spent the evening digging together at the Grove.
It wasn't his favorite activity, but it didn't matter. He had been by her side. And she had explained to him a bit of the theory of nodes. He hadn't understood it all, but that wasn't the point.
He remembered every word. Every inflection of her voice. Every gesture that reinforced an explanation. Every smile. Ah, her smile...

Copal sank into the memory.
But he quickly became gloomy. Of course they hadn't been alone.
Was it because she was afraid he would misbehave? Yet he hadn't done anything improper. At least not that he could remember.
But indeed she had stayed back several times when they had changed sources. And it seemed to him that she had jumped when he had called her.

And she had quickly withdrawn her hand when his had brushed against it too.
Yet it was completely accidental! He had not wanted to!
Or rather, he hadn't dared. It could happen when you were caring the same source. But she had still removed her hand.

On the other hand, she had agreed to let him walk her back to the tree-house. It was even the second time they had made the trip together since the teleporter. A delightful walk under the trees of Avalae.
They lived in the same tree. She in her guild. He in his apartment.
Would he dare to invite her there one day?

Nec, nec, nec. No way.
Copal looked at his few pieces of furniture. The almost complete lack of decoration.
What would she think when she saw all his scribe’s tools? The stacked files? The archives he had borrowed?
It was his work. Necessary for the Kingdom of course. And it had allowed him to attend the Court of the Karae Court.
But he was a little ashamed of it now. He was only a servant after all. While she...

Besides, she had not given his title when she had introduced him to the little Tryker at the teleporter.
He had felt a little offended at the time.
But maybe it was for the best. Maybe she hadn't wanted to remind him that he wasn't a minstrel, an artist. Nor a Noble. Like the other Matis present.
Yes. She was always delicate and thoughtful.

Or maybe she had taken pity on him.
Copal fell back into his dark ruminations.

Yet she had seemed a little concerned for him when they had talked about his training. She had hoped he was careful.
Then he had been bold. He'd dared to suggest that she come back and help him when he was practicing fencing on the cratchas of the Knoll of Dissent. As she had done before.

And she had refused.

She had been polite.
She had explained that she wanted to perfect the art of healing. That healing was her life.

Her whole life.

Copal sighed.
She was of a much higher level than he was. There was no way she would come back to heal him under these conditions.
Except out of pity. Out of the goodness of her heart.
That wasn't what he wanted.

There was only one way.
He would return to the Knoll the next day after his shift at the archives. He had to make enough progress so that they could train together. So that it wouldn't be unbalanced. So that he could help her in turn to progress.
That she became the great caretaker she dreamed of being.

And pray to Jena with all his heart that she wouldn’t meet anyone else before then.

Copal stood up resolutely.
He could do nothing against the crowd of elegant and distinguished Matis that populated the Court.
But he could sleep to be in good shape the next day.
His hand slid over the small parchment in his pocket. The one that had started it all. The few words that said she was at the Grove.
The message was not signed. But it had to be in her hand. Elegant, light, witty.
Copal took a deep breath. But the scroll smelled only of the earth they had turned over together.
It had to be her who had written it. Who had told him where to find her. Who had wished for his presence.
Maybe he had a chance. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

One last thought crossed his mind as he drifted off to sleep.
There was no way he was going to tell his mother about this at the next family dinner.

#5 Multilingual 

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Holeth noon. The usual lunch with his parents.
Copal had almost not come. But the habit had prevailed.

And he regretted it.

His mother had let her husband and son discuss quietly at the beginning. Mostly about the latest events in the Jungle. About the madman who had unleashed gooified frippos and yubos on the Zorai cities.
Copal had remembered Ser Nilstilar's advice. He had tried to be neutral. He had limited himself to phlegmatically relating the facts he had witnessed. As an ambassador should.
Assuming that he would ever be one. The Theocracy did not seem particularly eager to give him the opportunity to present himself.

He had so hoped to prove himself worthy of this new mark of trust from the Karan.
And it seemed so insignificant to him now.

But this topic had at least delayed the moment when his mother had started talking about the Karin's wedding.
Copal had no desire to talk about it. To think about it. Or to listen as his mother speculated about the future bride.
He kept his nose on his plate. Eating as slowly as possible. Only half listening to what she was saying. Lost in his memories.

There had been this magical moment.
They had both returned to the Knoll. At the edge of the cliff.
It was as if Jena's warmth had enveloped them. They had stayed a long time against each other. Ignoring the rain.
He had lost himself in her eyes. In their light.

They had kissed.

And then they had returned to Yrkanis and everything had gone wrong.
She was crying.
And Copal didn't know what he had done wrong. Or had not done.

His meal remained on his stomach.
He used the excuse of having to do some work for Ser Cuine Pido to take an early leave.
Not fast enough though. His mother had time to ask him with a smile: "And you, nidram. When will you get married? You must have met some charming hominas at the Court."

Copal mumbled some excuse. And ran away as fast as politeness would allow.
Haunted by green eyes. And the sweetness of a mouth.

#6 Multilingual 

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To answer the apartment caretaker’s greeting with a smile.
To enter the tree house. To ascend up to his parents' apartment.
To check his outfit. To breathe slowly. To pull himself together. To pretend everything was normal.
To knock on the door.
To blow out a last breath.

To smile to his mother who had opened the door.

The usual ritual of holeth lunchtime.

After the traditional prayer to Jena, a strange silence fell around the table. Even if it took Copal a moment to notice it.
His father's silence was not necessarily unusual. His mother's, however...

Copal forced himself out of his reverie. Had he missed a question? A remark?
His mother was looking at him. Seemingly waiting for something.

"Sorry lumnimae. I was thinking about something else.
- Or someone else probably."
His mother's smile was vaguely worrying. Copal glanced at his father.
He was eating calmly. But he paused to explain between two mouthfuls.
"If you wanted to be discreet, Avalae’s teleporter is not the best place for a rendez-vous."
He seemed oddly relaxed. Maybe even approving? Copal couldn't believe it.

But his mother was already chatting impatiently.
"What's her name? When are you going to introduce her to us?"
His father shrugged, as if to say that he didn't want to be involved in this.
Copal tried to evade.
"I can't introduce you to her right now. She just gave me permission to court her. I don't even know what she thinks of me."
That wasn't entirely true. It seemed to him that she wasn't completely oblivious to his company. But Copal wasn't sure he understood hominas. Especially this one.
And there was no question of introducing her to his mother for the moment!

"You can at least tell us her name anyway.
- She wears the colors of La Firme."
Now his father was getting into it.
Did he know enough about the inhabitants of Avalae to recognize a particular homina? Probably. It was part of the job.
But he didn't seem to want to say more. Concentrating on his meal.
To the great relief of his son. Who tried to apply the same strategy.

His mother seemed vaguely uncertain.
"La Firme? It's a good House."
He wasn't going to let his mother disparage it even unintentionally.
"It's a Noble House."
- Ah." That seemed to reassure her. "A homina of a good House. And from a good family I guess."
Copal stared at his plate. He was determined not to betray anything more.

"Isn't their leader a Fyros?"
His mother looked a little worried again.
Copal held back a sigh.
"Sil. Filira Zakkaria. He was also Royal Clerk for Avalae. But he retired. It is now Serae She-Peng who’s leading La Firme." He paused. "She is of zorai sap."
He wasn't really trying to shock his mother. But she seemed so provincial all of a sudden.
"And she's a Royal Minstrel."

His mother seemed torn between various feelings.
"You know all these people?
- Sil. I meet them at the Chamber of the Nobles. Or at the Karae Court. Or sometimes elsewhere in the Kingdom.
- You have become someone important. We are so proud of you, nya nidram."
He knew important people. This was not the same thing. But Copal did not feel brave enough to explain the nuance.
"I'm sure you've chosen a very suitable homina. And that you will introduce her to us soon."
Copal muttered a vague assent. And he was relieved for once when his mother moved on to the subject of the Karin's marriage.
Even though the speculative look she sometimes gave her son continued to worry him.

#7 Multilingual 

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To restrain himself. To respect the calm of the place.
To not show his annoyance.
It was a waste of time.
Copal obviously still had some progress to make in terms of impassivity.

The archivist apologized. Explaining that all the available books on Royal Weddings were out.
But that he would of course find something appropriate for the Royal Scribe. If the latter was willing to give him a few days. He would do whatever was necessary to get some of them. But with the Karin's wedding coming up...

Copal preferred to ignore this useless monologue.
He did not want a book about Royal Weddings. He was not Karan, Jena forbid.
He wanted to know more about weddings. As simple as that.

It had been a stupid idea anyway. He should have known all along.
But there weren't that many people he could ask.

A natural choice would have been to ask Filira Erminantius. Unfortunately the leader of the House Gardiens du Savoir had been gone for many cycles.

There was also Ser Nilstilar. The Ambassador was a man of good taste and wise counsel. He was well versed in the ways of the world, and the forms that should be followed. And Copal thought he was smart enough to have noticed something.
But he was also a bachelor. Perhaps the subject was painful for him. It would have been tactless to broach the subject with him.

The nobles of the Court were certainly not people to whom he could confide his worries.
Perhaps Filira Salazar? By asking the question on a theoretical level as he had done with the archivist? Or on a historical level?

The sad reality was that there were few married and discreet homins in his relations.
So Copal had turned to his usual source of knowledge. The archives.
Without success.
The Karin's wedding was a simple pretext to justify his sudden interest. This was obviously too simple.

The only one left to question was his father.
Copal shuddered at the thought.
But if he had to.
And strange as it may seem, it was still less disturbing than talking to his mother.

Anyway, he had been sure of his feelings for a long time.
And after what they'd said to each other on the cliff, he couldn't decently stay in this wobbly situation forever.
The honor of his Serae might suffer.
He had to make his request in due form.

Another eager archivist was approaching. He was carrying a few books which he placed on a desk.
The first one interrupted his stammering.
They presented the various manuals of manners and historical chronicles.
They contained many details about minor weddings. But there were also a few things about ancient Royal weddings.
If this would satisfy the Royal Scribe by the time the other books returned.

Copal forced himself to accept it all calmly. And to give thanks in the most neutral way possible.
And to better hide his satisfaction.

#8 Multilingual 

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To crumple the sheet. To throw it on the ground.
With all the others.
Copal restrained himself from taking out his frustration on his quill in the same way.
He was a Royal Scribe and an Ambassador. He should have been able to write a simple letter.

He stood up abruptly.
With a few stretches and breaths he regained control of himself.
At least enough to recognize inwardly that this letter was not simple.
It touched on too many personal things.

He sat down again calmgly. But without taking his writing kit yet.
He remained for a long moment staring at the void in front of him.
Looking for the right word. For the right approach.
But it was too difficult for now.

He owed Serae Wu-Shepeng his sincere thanks. And he would give them to her.
But it was too soon.
Perhaps he was simply taking the problem the wrong way.

First to get married.
And then to thank the one who had made this extraordinary outcome possible.
When he had been hesitating to propose for so many months.

Getting married.
He was going to get married.
He Serae of his heart had said sil.
Copal was smiling at a face only he could see.

But first he had to find someone suitable to conduct the ceremony.
The etiquette manuals he had consulted extensively said it had to be a married homin.
Of which he didn’t know that many.

The first one that came was the newly married Karin Aniro.
But that was far too presumptuous.
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