I have been instructed to present myself the first Saturday of each month, so -- two weeks from now? (Have utterly lost track of time.) Healer Pettworth indicated in no uncertain terms that I should take myself in the moment my feet hit Protectorate soil again, however, so I am recuperating the night at Cottesmore and begging an appointment in the morning, then making my way back to Hogwarts whenever I am released.
I echo your loose ends; It is entirely too quiet here. I hadn't thought I missed fieldwork so fiercely. Do not mistake me, my work at Hogwarts is valuable and rewarding as well, and I am enjoying it deeply -- but oh, the chance to be in the thick of things again was utterly delightful. (Shall have to petition Our Lord to allow me to serve as His hands once more over school holidays, once I am recovered. Having seen the gaps in our children's education, I will not ask to be replaced in my role there unless there are others more suited to fill it, and I am not so modest as to claim there are many others who would be more suited to fill it -- but I am certain I could be of use even within those parameters.)
I will await your package eagerly -- I have been thinking about the boundaries between this world and the next a great deal lately, even before this week's endeavours. There is some numinous realisation swirling around in my unconscious, waiting for the proper moment to present itself to me, of that I am certain; all I can do is remain still and hope not to startle it, while feeding it as much knowledge as I can. (I weep for the loss of the remainder of Orion's library behind those cursed wards, I truly do -- but at least you salvaged some.)
I should pin your feet to the ground and make you listen to my stream of consciousness sometime soon, actually. You've the knack of helping me spot what is underneath what I am saying, even from nothing more than your silence and the occasional raised eyebrow of disbelief.
Sleep well, my dearest, when you do. And guard your back, these next few days, without me; I would be most cross if you were to come to harm this late in the game.
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Date: 2012-11-15 06:46 am (UTC)I echo your loose ends; It is entirely too quiet here. I hadn't thought I missed fieldwork so fiercely. Do not mistake me, my work at Hogwarts is valuable and rewarding as well, and I am enjoying it deeply -- but oh, the chance to be in the thick of things again was utterly delightful. (Shall have to petition Our Lord to allow me to serve as His hands once more over school holidays, once I am recovered. Having seen the gaps in our children's education, I will not ask to be replaced in my role there unless there are others more suited to fill it, and I am not so modest as to claim there are many others who would be more suited to fill it -- but I am certain I could be of use even within those parameters.)
I will await your package eagerly -- I have been thinking about the boundaries between this world and the next a great deal lately, even before this week's endeavours. There is some numinous realisation swirling around in my unconscious, waiting for the proper moment to present itself to me, of that I am certain; all I can do is remain still and hope not to startle it, while feeding it as much knowledge as I can. (I weep for the loss of the remainder of Orion's library behind those cursed wards, I truly do -- but at least you salvaged some.)
I should pin your feet to the ground and make you listen to my stream of consciousness sometime soon, actually. You've the knack of helping me spot what is underneath what I am saying, even from nothing more than your silence and the occasional raised eyebrow of disbelief.
Sleep well, my dearest, when you do. And guard your back, these next few days, without me; I would be most cross if you were to come to harm this late in the game.
Eternally yours,
T