Then we looked for Aestos, because we were eager to see him. And to appreciate him as the gentle anomaly he was to man. I found him sitting alone while the crewmen spread across the beach. Aestos was against a wide tree. His journal open.
He did not react to me taking the space beside him but stiffened when Haris sat tentatively across from us.
"What are you up to, friend?" I asked to relax him.
He showed me a page of his book. "Letters," he said. "I am learning them."
Guilt struck me, and it was a bitter rumble in my chest because I had not continued to teach him as I promised. I had been too distracted by my own circumstances. My people and my sister.
"I have neglected you," I said with remorse. "I said I would teach you, and I have not been."
