Moon day: Letter

Folded letter pressed between two pages:

Dear lady,

Have I told you about my homeland? We have not cut down our forests, the way you have. They are conifers, and they stretch across our mountains and down to our coast. I once spent a memorable few months in a cave in our mountains, rain dripping on my head at great length, feeding a fire branches that sputtered with pitch, cracking and hissing steam with great vigor.

You can ride all around our kingdom in a month, though the rockier mountains will give you trouble. The air is thicker there, warmer, though not quite so wet as the city’s. I never quite get used to having to close my windows against the fog, living here. When I grow homesick, I put out my fire and lamps. There are always lights burning here.

The autumn campaigns are drawing to a close. The empire’s grip on the coast is strong, now.

Do you believe in evil, lady? Not abstract, theological evil, but evil as real as my hands or dance steps. Patterns of evil. Evil men. Do you think there is such a thing as that, that one must oppose outside of regional differences, outside of personal hatred and jealousy? When you see children starving to death by the side of the road because their parents held to their oaths, when you feel the bite of never seeing a friend again because they kept their word, when you hear of men, women and children burned alive because they dared to say ‘this is our home.’ When a man takes no quarter, offers no clemency, listening to neither surrender nor the rules of war. Pillage, slaughter, dishonor and chaos.

If then one were to come to the center of it all, and it was filled with light, love, laughter, dancing, song, poetry, gardens fit for harpist tales and wine like nectar, what would you think of that?

I suppose I have been indiscreet enough for one missive. Be well.

Yours, affectionately.

I found Dri’s letter while cleaning our room. Sev hid it inside his armor. I do not quite know what to make of it. He asks no questions, makes no pleas, certainly does not hint as to any ‘affairs of the mind,’ as Sev put it the other day. It seems idle philosophizing to me. Perhaps there is a hidden code? That would be very like his grace.

Comments (2)

M.E. TraylorFebruary 8th, 2011 at 10:59 am

“If then one were to come to the center of it all, and it was filled with light, love, laughter, dancing, song, poetry, gardens fit for harpist tales and wine like nectar, what would you think of that?”

Wow, the contrast Dri draws is really disturbing. Nicely done.

adminFebruary 8th, 2011 at 11:12 am

Woo! I was kinda worried about this one – Dri strikes me as the kinda fellow who could amend ‘longer letter later’ to every single one of his missives and still never manage to get around to actually writing the long letter. Busy fellow. And by busy I mean that particular sort of Type A personality that makes everyone around him feel bad.

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