Ambrose - Cuolomicus Nori - what?
The packet sits on his desk, torn and rummaged. The contents are hardly worth noticing, which is surely the only reason it even survived the journey from Bahaaru all the way north to Cuolomicus Nori: two pairs of sturdy, colourless men’s socks and a worn copy of some tired Abhati poetry. No sign as to the sender. But the note he finally finds, glued between two stuck-together pages, is even more troubling.
Little brother, forgive my stubborn pride. I do not know even now if I made the right choice. Now it is your turn. Keep watch.