It was by the light of a weak and sputtering fire that the black-haired girl drew the letter from the pocket of her plain, brown dress. She sat hunched over, her backside propped on a small wooden stool by the hearth, and tugged the folded pieces of parchment from the envelope. A quick glance over her shoulder examined the darkened room beyond the fire's light. All was silent aside from the soft crackling of the flames. Her brother was safely slumbering in the tiny, adjoining bedroom.
She opened the first bit of paper, biting at her bottom lip, anticipating the letters that she would struggle to read. A frown creased her forehead when she saw no written words, but some sort of drawing. She turned the paper around in her fingers until it seemed she was holding the image upright. Her head canted from one side to the other. She then laid the parchment on her lap and unfolded the next page. Again, there were no words, no letters. It was another drawing. She sat, bent over it, staring in stillness and silence for a long time.
"Stitches?" she murmured to the empty room.
Finally, the third and last page was opened and examined. Her lips pursed softly together, the corners of her mouth turning down in a sad expression. She smoothed a hand over the parchment, then slowly traced the lines of the image with a fingertip.
"Where are you going?" she whispered to ears that were not there to hear.
With a quiet sigh, she placed the pages together, one on top of the other, and folded them together as they had been. Gently, they were returned to the envelope, and she sat and looked at it for several minutes without moving. Eventually, it was slid back into her pocket, and her hand laid over it as if to protect it.
