Unclaimed Letter
To Syaven daughter of Torven
From Malin Corncroft
4th day of Yulemath
To Syaven daughter of Torven
From Malin Corncroft
4th day of Yulemath
You may say what you like. I know this letter will reach you. I know you are not foolish enough to leave with the first winter storm. Nor would the farrier send a woman’s little horse off to Rohan in this season. Spare him your mad whims. Let the cold mornings clear your head - and think long through the bitter months.
By winter storm or spring you must not go. I’ve had news from the East. The words are evil to speak & worse to write, yet today I cannot carry them myself. Hear them now if you will.
Ulvar’s steading is abandoned. Many were lost. That cursed ranger’s grave fell to greed upon your leaving & carved many new graves around him. I have said it once & I say it again - however noble you think him, they were fools to keep him. Whatever dark spirit drove him to your shelter drove him into the grave, and lingers - hunting for more. It took many. Syaven, it has taken your sister. I cannot say now what befell her, nor the others. It is all strange & more than I can bear. Darkness and death came out from the Entwood - doubtless called forth by that haunted grave.
They lay her next to him, after all. Whether from pity or to spite you, I cannot say. Many strange things were done. It is said the air was not right, and two horses broke free in the night and fled. At last, young Celawyn was lost & the village was broken. She fell not as the others, but went with the children to where the brook drops at the thicket, and they returned without her. Worse than dead is a child missing. Dreadful hope, cruel visions & a mourning without end. The men sought deep in the wood but found only deeper grief, her stockings & shoes.
They burned the lodge & farmstead, and spread ash over what would not burn. I say they did not bury the curse, only the dead. Save Celawyn of course, poor girl. By Halamir’s stone & now the eight others around him, on a great, looming oak they carved her name. Below is written more by Eawulf - the last man to leave the steading.
And with spring’s first light I pray you will come North. You need not toss yourself across mountains to find a farm. Hodge is not a prattling man as I am - he is a good, fair fellow. And he is ever lacking farmhands who might bear the bitter wind, as I know you can.
I will come at Solmath. Keep warm & fed, or I’ll knock your head.
- Malin
By winter storm or spring you must not go. I’ve had news from the East. The words are evil to speak & worse to write, yet today I cannot carry them myself. Hear them now if you will.
Ulvar’s steading is abandoned. Many were lost. That cursed ranger’s grave fell to greed upon your leaving & carved many new graves around him. I have said it once & I say it again - however noble you think him, they were fools to keep him. Whatever dark spirit drove him to your shelter drove him into the grave, and lingers - hunting for more. It took many. Syaven, it has taken your sister. I cannot say now what befell her, nor the others. It is all strange & more than I can bear. Darkness and death came out from the Entwood - doubtless called forth by that haunted grave.
They lay her next to him, after all. Whether from pity or to spite you, I cannot say. Many strange things were done. It is said the air was not right, and two horses broke free in the night and fled. At last, young Celawyn was lost & the village was broken. She fell not as the others, but went with the children to where the brook drops at the thicket, and they returned without her. Worse than dead is a child missing. Dreadful hope, cruel visions & a mourning without end. The men sought deep in the wood but found only deeper grief, her stockings & shoes.
They burned the lodge & farmstead, and spread ash over what would not burn. I say they did not bury the curse, only the dead. Save Celawyn of course, poor girl. By Halamir’s stone & now the eight others around him, on a great, looming oak they carved her name. Below is written more by Eawulf - the last man to leave the steading.
Unto darkness
Unto death
You claim our child
You claim her breath
To Entwood old
To phantom threat
You gave us naught
We paid the debt
Thus have they left it and thus would you find it - timber, and graves still bare of moss. There may be no comfort for these tidings. Yet now as the frost & darkness fall, and the birds slumber, let this evil be the passing shadow of a long sleep, fading again with the rise of spring.Unto death
You claim our child
You claim her breath
To Entwood old
To phantom threat
You gave us naught
We paid the debt
And with spring’s first light I pray you will come North. You need not toss yourself across mountains to find a farm. Hodge is not a prattling man as I am - he is a good, fair fellow. And he is ever lacking farmhands who might bear the bitter wind, as I know you can.
I will come at Solmath. Keep warm & fed, or I’ll knock your head.
- Malin
