Jensal has a lot of work to do. Her house is going to collapse; nobody had better be inside when it does. She is briskly bundling adult miracles into groups who have at least one decent job between them, she is writing to agencies that handle adoption for the ultimate disposition of kids who don't get picked up because she's reasonably sure that they will not all get picked up, and when parents do drop by to collect their little ones she is signing papers for every set of them with slightly gritted teeth. Lots to do. Her hand is cramping from paperwork and she doesn't care.
"That was fun!" she says. "Games are fun! I wanna do another one."
So he cleans up game number one and gets out a second, slightly more complicated one, and explains that.
Since Mial spends so much time teaching her how to win, it occurs to her to ask after a few turns, "Why is winning better than not winning?"
She continues to blossom under Mial's instruction. She's not going to be as good as he is, but she's going to be astonishingly good for someone who didn't know how to move or talk a week ago.
A larger than usual rain of letters drops onto the coffee table. Finnah goes to look through it. Most of it's for Mial; she dumps those in his lap. She has one with a Pra Verian flag on it. She opens it.
She shreds it to the best of her ability with her fingernails. "Mial I want you to pull a miracle out of your ear or wherever they come from and make my parents stop sending me letters I'm sick of it!"
"...I can, actually, miracle it so that letters from your parents are destroyed before ever reaching you," he says thoughtfully. "That wouldn't be hard at all. There, done. Have I not told you where miracles come from? I think I can tell you where miracles come from. It's actually kind of hilarious where miracles come from."
"Miracles," says Mial, "are made out of pain. The size of miracle that can fix a shren or resurrect a dead person comes from about the equivalent of twenty-year esu. Before the miracle workers found shrens they hadn't even ever seen that big of a miracle before because they were all ordinary otherworldly humans who had serious trouble with even a tenth of that."
"And I, of course, have no problem with it at all," Mial continues, "because I'm fucking shrennaki."
"I like that word! I like that word a lot! Why don't I like that word? I like that word!" she says.
"Um. You can switch your primary language to Reform Draconic and then Draconic's opinions will not affect you so much," says Mial.
"That's much much much better! Thank you!" she says.
"You're the best person!" she declares. "You're the most shrennaki!"