Mial gets mail.

Mial gets a lot of mail. It starts out as a lot of mail and builds up to huge drifts of mail, as word spreads; if he doesn't stay on top of it, it may spill out the windows and start appearing in the soup while dinner is fixed and embed itself in the carpet under the sheer pressure of all the other mail.

People want their relatives back. It is mostly dragons who want this, but not exclusively. A number of vampires wish to know if the pontiff has been informed of all this or do they have to write him themselves. (Apparently they're concerned about the possibility of the pontiff being buried in mail but obviously have no such regard for Mial.) Dragons want to know how the possibility of future shrens has been addressed.

Some pixies in Gibryel have written to him about their political problems, unclear on the nature of the miracles available. Someone wants him to "fix Ryganaav". Finnah's egg father has written a rather sentimental letter imploring Mial to intercede with Finnah on the grounds that "it seems this would really take a miracle".

Someone wants him to eradicate south flu. Someone wants him to eradicate their son-in-law. Someone wants him to eradicate dust bunnies. Someone wants him to eradicate Sand Dusk Chanters. Someone wants him to eradicate an obscure parasitic illness of the tropics, and in case he isn't willing to do that, there are several pages of lurid explanation of the parasite's mechanism and anecdotes about people who didn't make it to adequately trained lights immediately. Someone wants him to eradicate nutritional yeast.

A lot of people want miracle teleportation powers. A number of people are concerned that conventional warding might not hold against miracle teleportation powers and want to know what he's going to do about that isn't he an Esmaarlan.

A substantial fraction of the world's dragon population seems to think that their variously heartfelt, scolding, or bewildered correspondence will be what convinces That Which Means To Eternally Plague Us With Shrenhood to do so less Eternally, perhaps this coming Saanen or something, he could have a little party, everyone could celebrate the final disappearance of that nasty family-destroying agonizing disease? Who would want to be a disease? The stunt has certainly gained attention but surely he has enough attention now?

He has a lot of attention now. Letters in assorted envelope colors with little flags on them pop into existence over the coffee table, hit the pile, and slide to the floor.