Flame of the West

She finished the letter, the words spilling out freely, the catharsis of placing them on paper lightening the burden she felt. Should anyone care. The words filled pages… It could fill books.

Jumping off Gwynsel, the big white charger breathed deeply, the long ride barely causing the huge horse to break a sweat. He huffed at the grass and bent to pluck a few strands, chewing them thoughtfully as Guri walked to the mailbox.

Looking at the lovely statues she placed the letter in the mailbox, her words hopefully will help her old friend understand.

Stopping, Guri looked at Heligin’s simple cabin. After all, how large a house did the Lord of streams and lakes need? He was rarely there she imagined. An this morning the tiny home was dark, the fire out. She slipped the folded letter into the mailbox and turned to go stood thinking about him.

A letter addressed to Tivlyn is slipped into her mailbox, the cloaked figure sighs remembering this person. Her friendship was the first and most precious relationship she had forged, back when she was a 16-year-old with her younger sister in tow and faced a new life in a new place, the death of her parents and becoming a woman.

Dearest Tiv,