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Flight
moody
yilon
I was worried about staying in the same inn I stayed in on the way up, but they must see hundreds of foxes in a year and a half. Nobody recognized me. Sinch and I stayed in a little room on the second floor. I had some money in my pouch, and it's certainly enough to get to Vinton, even counting the extra Royals I had to give the merchant to let us ride with him.

The strange thing, the reason I wanted to write in the journal tonight, is that I don't feel as good as I thought I would. Yesterday, all I could think about was being free, seeing Mother again, being with Sinch on an adventure. But today I had a lot of time to think, sitting in the wagon, and I kept thinking about Father and Lord Dewanne. Father's done a lot of things I hate, but he's a lord. I see the respect the teachers give him, and something Master Xoren said to me once comes back to me even though I don't want to think about it. He said, “you're a natural at this, just like your father.”

I wish I hadn't studied so much history. So many of our lessons started with “the lord of such-and-such was a weak lord.” Father isn't weak. Neither am I. But this is weak, now, what I'm doing. I want to see Mother and Vinton again more than anything, but I don't want to do it like this, running away. My dinner isn't sitting well, and my throat is all tight. But there's nothing I can do about it now. I can't go back to Divalia.
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