There's a feeling in him like something just got sunk. Something that's not one of Meulin's ships. A little more hesitantly this time, he types.

TC: a vision.
TC: with wicked vision my brother has been bestowed by the holy, bearing fruit unpalatable.
TC: this is what he dost mean to preach to me.
TC: ain't it?

He doesn't wish to scare him, but he wants to be sure.