The Khafesi Market was a lesson in moral ambiguity. A place boycotted by the Academy for its reckless dispersal of magic, yet thrumming with a vital, chaotic energy my new fey sense finds… familiar. We hid our affiliations, fearing retribution, but the vendors seemed indifferent. Their concern was coin, not consequence. A sobering glimpse of a world where magic is a commodity, not a covenant. Among many curiosities, we did find the dark feathered chickens, the Ojofiri, they are called. As described, they possess a wondrous empathy, able to coax any egg to hatch. I purchased one for study, seeing in its gentle talent a pale reflection of my own tradition—a connection to nascent life, a nurturing of potential from inertia to being. Tewondros named her Belesh. The name fits. She is a calm, observing presence in my room as I knit, a silent pupil in my study of souls, though she is still too young for me to gaze deeper into her nature. The other four were delivered, our duty to the Rain-Scribes complete. We had the rest of the day to ourselves and we spent it getting comfortable in the dorm, learning very well which room is whose and meeting with more newly arrived students like us. Magaambya really values its students as our living arrangements are more than nice and at the same time… safe. The mango moonshine is always there thanks to Chizere, a friendly fellow student who brews it in his room. It distracts me from the reality that I am here because of a terrible ailment.