Dear Uncle,

I found a beetle today that glowed like lantern-oil. Its shell shimmered green and blue, as if it carried a piece of the sky inside it. I kept it in a jar, but Ma said to let it go before it burned itself out. She says mana leaks from the hills here, feeding little things like that, though I think she only says it to keep me from being afraid.

Folk call Gobos lucky, but I don’t think luck means always having food or shoes. It feels more like finding beauty in small places—like the beetle’s light or the way frost clings to the wall at dawn. Pa says the Wall itself is too close these days, and he warns me never to wander near it. But sometimes I dream about it. If I touched it, would I wake up taller, stronger, with a new name and no chores? Maybe I’d forget how tired I get from carrying buckets. Maybe I’d forget my hunger.

Don’t tell Pa I said that. He’d cuff my ear. But I wanted to tell someone.

Write soon, Uncle. Bring sweets when you visit.

Love,
Kira (for now)