It seemed that something had been lost in translation, so to speak, because the 'partners' Moore found proved to be mostly helpful in other matters--accompanying Kenna on errands away from the bath house, simple companionship when off duty, and similar low-key tasks not immediately related to bath-house duties. Oh, there was some gentle teasing about Kenna's lack of decision about preferences, but it was friendly and sympathetic teasing, followed by a few helpful suggestions for if and when that changed, and the other women (and one man) who took her underwing were<br/><br/>Life settled into a fair routine for a while. Classes at the college interspersed with studying at the Stacks, which was officially a tavern but seemed to be at least half a library. Studying meshed with hours at the bath house, many of those spent in little more than a loincloth, handing out towels and body oils and fetching refreshments. In spite of the lack of more modest garb, Kenna found the clients rarely did more than ogle her a bit...and many didn't even do that much.<br/><br/>Her classes split between general classes, which were what she had expected, and more intense personal tutoring sessions with both Hirsh and (less often) with Theron. These were exhausting, but she left them feeling as if she had achieved something worthwhile. Not that her control was any better, not yet. That was going to take a while. But it was something.<br/><br/>The letter that interrupted this cycle was a surprise. It came to the bath house, addressed to Kenna, and was (of all things) an invitation to a funeral.<br/><br/>