Mhavos closes his eyes, a gentle smile crossing his face. Love and reverence and nostalgia cross his heart; he feels very warm at the thought of sharing this memory, far more treasured than any daliance.

"Yes," he says. "It was in Trade, a language I was still learning, and I obsessed over it for the better part of a year, trying to decode it and learn its secrets. Terribly long, like everything by Emery Blackmane. It's a poem about... poetry, complaining mostly about so-called friends who wouldn't heed his advice on writing. It loved its wit."

Mhavos tips his head back and recites. "I sit with sad civility, I read / With honest anguish, and an aching head; / And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, / This saving counsel, “Keep your piece nine years."