Every year that you work in the Place of Free Words, the weight on your shoulders gets a little bit heavier, your slender frame becomes a little more stooped. Too many secrets you can't tell, the burdens of other men's souls eating at you after they free themselves by transferring their sins to you.

It seems unfair for the gods to ask so much of their Eyes and Ears. And the people, they call it an honour, throwing grand festivals on High Holy days, because a boy from their own town was chosen to sit at the heart of the Place of Free Words. Festivals you can't even attend, trapped as you are by your "honourable" duties.