A more idyllic morning could not have been imagined. The sun was high and clear over the rooftops of Knotwood village, casting what seemed like a shimmering glow through the air. The budding trees and eager, lush grass stood out in sharp detail, every shadow crisply defined.
Today was the first of the year where she felt no chill in the air. No, the sunlight was warm; just warm! After stepping over the threshold, she turned right around and went back inside to hang her shawl on the peg by the door. The door was left wide open then. Somehow, it felt wrong to close it, and deny the house the delicious, green-scented breeze.
Holding her skirt carefully with one hand, she hobbled down the porch steps, one at a time. The twinge in her right leg was ever-present. It was never entirely gone, though some days it hurt more or less. But she hardly noticed it. It was as much a part of her existence and function as breathing. In her other hand, a little satchel was clutched, and it swung side to side with her movements. A small orange-and-white cat trailed out behind her. Its tail was no more than a stump, but it was happily poking skyward like a flagpole.
The young woman paraded across the verdant lawn, arms swinging in girlish joy, not at all hindered by her uneven gait. To the picnic table beside the old oak she went, setting down her little bag and heedlessly flopping down onto the bench. The cat leapt up to curiously sniff about beside her, while she unpacked a small, leather-bound journal and inkwell. Once the items were situated, she drew a folded bit of parchment from her pocket, and carefully opened it.
“This is from Tairy,” she said to the cat, who paid her no mind at all, but hunkered at the edge of the table, staring at a pair of robins on the lawn. For a time she sat still, looking over the scrawled words and smiling with her tongue stuck out a little between her lips. Then the letter was folded back up and slipped into her pocket again. “Aye, you don’t care a bit, do you, Pumpkin?” she chuckled to the feline.
Opening the journal, another piece of paper was drawn from where it had been tucked between the pages. Slender fingers unfolded it gently while the dappled sunlight danced through the swaying boughs of the ancient tree overhead.
“And this is from Miss Finchley!” she announced proudly.
Pumpkin twitched her tail-stump and jumped from the table to the grass. She proceeded to set her claws into the flesh of the oak tree and arch her back, scratching violently.
The woman at the table did not seem offended. She hummed softly under her breath, spreading open the letter, smoothing it out with her hands. She set the inkwell on top to keep it from fluttering away in the lovely breeze, then prepared her simple quill-pen to begin her reply.
To: Miss Finchley
Tinnudir, Lake Evendim
Dearest Miss Finchley,
I am so pleased to hear from you! And even more pleased that you made it to Lake Evendim (I’m glad to see it spelled out proper, so I don’t butcher it!) all right. Though, I do want to know what this “hiccup” is that you mentioned. What happened? You must tell me when you come back to Bree, aye? I may say “I told you so” quite a few times! But if you aren’t hurt or in danger now, that is all that matters.
What were this bet about Master Byrge’s pies? Ha ha! I can only guess, dear Miss Finchley! I will tell Master Tumunir to expect the prettiest of pretty stones on your return.
I wish I could see the lake, too. I do love water! I believe it were Mister Aeru what told me he’d grown up there. Ah, yes, it were, now that I think on it more. He offered to bring me there to see it with my own eyes sometime. I wish I’d had a chance to say aye and do that, but now it wouldn’t seem proper to go off with a man alone like that, know what I mean?
I guess that brings me to your next question rather nicely! I am fine! More than fine! Mister Tairy is as well. More than fine, indeed! I laugh at myself now. It’s all hard to put into words, and I feel as though I’m drunk half the time (not that I know much about being proper drunk) and just sort of walking around with my head in the clouds. I can’t be expected to sort that into words, can I? I know you understand! I think often of you and your sweetheart, Hawk. I will be so happy to see you two together and side by side again someday.
Have you found the man that you were seeking? I cannot remember his name now. The man who taught you before?
Write back if you can, please? And more than anything, be safe!!
Your Friend,
Taite
