Fall 71styear-I fear Sorrel is heading down a dastardly path in his life. I have spent little time with him since our tending but I see how he has changed. A fortnight ago he came into my room unannounced. I scrambled to cover my bare arms and legs with my cloak but I was not quick enough, He spied my faerie markings. “You heathen,” he spat at me “I know what those are; they are vile inscriptions the faeries use to attack creatures.” I was unable to explain myself before he had stormed off.
He hasn’t spoken to me hence though I’ve tried to engage him. And now I’ve learned that he has joined a band of young pixies calling themselves the Morxauxaun*, a foul appellation to identify oneself with. I fear there’s little I can do to dissuade his passion.
*Morxauxaun- Pixie dialect of Sylvan; colloquialism meaning Faerie defiler (untranslatable).