Delivery Word from Adelaide Throes to Jacob Wickham

With her second Word, Adelaide scrawls a quite note with her dwindling supply of henna. This time she uses a small blade of wood from her earlier chopping activities. She ties it to the Word's foot. It is sharp and no longer than the base of her palm to her middle finger. It reads simply:


I never thought to worry
about the air until I reached
the springs. Maybe there's a
reason for your madness. There's
always been a reason for mine.

Won't you tell me how this ends?
Yours,
Miss Throes