Sleepless

I'm sorry it's been so long!

I haven't been to visit the Hands for more than a moon, and the last time was only a quick peek before I was drawn back again. There was no time to write.

I have been sleeping badly.

My father is in trouble with the Duke of Aneth, which makes him in trouble with the King. When the Duke is angry with you you must walk very carefully! I know my father is not sleeping well either, for late at night when I am turning and turning in my bed I can hear him through the floor, pacing and pacing.

It's a stupid reason, too. The Duke took a fancy to a sword in the museum and would take it away. My father said he couldn't take it, it belonged to the King's grandfather, and a King's sword is too important for a Duke to use.

He made a mistake. The Duke was stung; he doesn't like being made to feel small, and my father, who is usually so diplomatic, didn't speak carefully enough. I think he was tired, and angry that the Duke thought he could take such a thing, as if it belonged to him. My father feels that the Duke is too free with the King's things, with the King himself even, but he would never normally say such a thing. The King is so easygoing, it is easy for people to forget themselves with him, but everyone knows the Duke takes advantage of this kindness of the King's.

So now the Duke is poisoning the King's ear with false tales about my father. The king, sweet man that he is, can hardly believe it, and shakes his head in disbelief, or so I hear. But the Duke will win, in the end. And that is what takes my father's sleep: how long?

The terrible thing, the thing I can't tell anyone, is that I'm not sleepless because of my father's trouble. I have troubles of my own.

The other day I saw Ennis again. He was working with his father, unloading hay from the waggon, and he had his shirt off. When I saw it I didn't know what to do, because that feeling I had before that he was someone I didn't know came back, but I was also embarrassed, because I wanted to say hello. I stood there, feeling stupid and watching him work, and the longer I stood there the worse it got. Finally, I thought I would sneak away before he saw me, but of course as soon as I moved, he looked up.

He smiled at me and waved, and suddenly I could see the old Ennis inside that big person, and it felt wonderful to have him back!!! I smiled back, I think, but then the sun shone on his skin and the moment was over. I felt embarrassed again, and I ran off. I could feel him looking after me as I went, but there was nothing I could do.

Ever since then I've been anxious all the time. It's so strange. I look everywhere for him, terrified I might see him; but when I don't see him I'm somewhat disappointed. It's horribly confusing. I can hardly sleep, thinking how foolish I must have looked and wondering what to do next time.

So, trying to get away from that thinking, for it is useless as well as hopeless, I have been raiding the library for books, and reading long into the night. If I get tired enough, I will sleep. If not, well, then I turn and turn.

In the meantime, I can hear my father down below: tramp, tramp, tramp. My mother says we look like a couple of ghosts. She can't stand how tired we look. I don't blame her. If I had anot