((The letter is written on parchment, and filling the corners are the warm hues of a dawn, scattered with stars. Every few lines, a word or two has been blotted out, as it seems tears flowed freely as it was written, yet all tears are not a foul thing.))
This is a letter you will never read, yet it feels like something I must write. Ever winter draws nearer, and no matter how I stoke the fires, I cannot seem to find warmth within my home. I thought ever it was the work of your kin which drew me to this place. I thought the light which shone from stones above to be the warmest light I had ever seen. I realize now, that that warmth was you. The only place upon this icy peak I feel at home is when I am by your side, even if in truth you have returned to the halls of your kin. Ever now do I feel the lonesome dread Okrog spoke of, being in a cave alone with little way out, and no light to guide your way. Did you feel this? Within the halls of Jarnfast did you feel ever the empty cold, when Nezuki and Gumir had returned and you were all alone.
I can tell you of how I feel sometimes, as you are far gone, so I worry not that it would burden your heart so. My heart breaks every time I think of that day, which is often as I carry the pain in my knee to remind me. I think of how foolish a notion I had, picking berries, so far from the safety of camp, and perhaps if I had not, if I had waited to eat, you would be home with me now.
I dream of that day. Often and in detail. Some memories fade so fast, yet that one sticks ever in my mind, haunting me even while I rest. It seems a cruel fate indeed.
Do not think it all bad. I think often on the good times as well. I have taken to trying to paint the red river outside of Jarnfast, or perhaps the night sky when you sang that lullaby to me, a tune so lovely and sweet, I can do little to take it from my mind, so I find myself humming it quite often. Not to mention, I have tried as I can to chronicle your tales as well. I have written a foreword, so make no worry, having my express wishes that no one ever publish such a tome. I wish even if you fade from this world, as the stars fade from the sky at first light, that your stories remain on the lips of those lucky enough to hear them.
I know not where to go after putting such things to pen. I miss you ever so. I know I shall never meet you again, yet within those halls of waiting, I suppose I hope that as you tell your tales, perhaps once or twice, the name of Kindleflame will fall from your lips, and you will think of me again, and much as your stories bring you before me, I shall be with you as well.
Sleep well dear, Ever your dearest friend,
Kithri, your Kindleflame
