Finn,

When did we last speak?  It seems like ages since I last saw you, but only yesterday since those summer days by the Niben.   You would draw those intricate maps in the sand, and we would scamper about hunting for treasure until the shrill call of our nannies would drag us back to the city for dinner.

This map you have drawn me is of little use it seems, for I have no doubt ignored its counsel.  I have found the river, yet the rest of the directions seem to speak of another place, with trees and wildlife singing through the breeze.  Where I stand now is a land of hills and valleys, its broad shoulders armored with a cuirass of rock.

It is a small miracle that I have not gone completely mad, although at times I wonder if such a state would be preferable.  Then, as if to mock my requests, the Gods let me witness an act of true madness, and I realize that I am still whole.

I dare not say more.  The Reach is not a safe place for me to sojourn.  Fortunately, I finally met a passerby I felt comfortable approaching.  He was a Breton man, likely a servant of some sort, running an errand for his master.  I wanted to ask him for directions, but how does one do so without knowing her destination?

I searched the depths of my memory for a name, a place, a feeling.  I mumbled something about a college, a phrase without meaning or context.  Yet somehow the Breton was able to decipher my cryptic plea.  Wordlessly, he pointed to the river, then guided that finger northeast.  That’s where this college must be. 

It was in that moment that I thought of you, Finn. I thought of the Imperial City, of Niben, and the strident voice of the river at my feet.  I need only follow its call.

– Lathgwen