The Song of Mavin Manyshaped

You have not reared him to care what others do, or think, or say. How then should he care for education, for is that not the study of what others care about?

“Wisdom,” growled the Agirul. “Painful, isn’t it? We assume so much and resist learning to the contrary.”

“It is hard to do good,” the voice whispered.

“Nonsense,” she muttered. “You only have to do it.”

There are those who must find fault somewhere, among the dead if they cannot find enough among the living.

“Forgive my mentioning it. If you are like most young men, you hate having it mentioned.”

Mavin could not help laughing. “I hate having it mentioned. Yes. Perhaps…” She paused a moment before going on, “it is because young people are not that sure they are competent.”

“There is always that,” agreed the Seer. “But that feeling does not necessarily diminish with age. It is merely challenged less frequently. When one has over sixty years, as I do, then the world assumes we would not have survived without competence. With someone your age, it could always be sheer luck.”