An unsent letter.
[The letter is in painstakingly neat script, made so economically small as to fit the contents almost entirely onto the face of one sheet of paper, with some spilling over onto the back of the page.]
Dear Martyn,
Allow me to begin with an apology for the existence of this letter. I recognize the folly of writing, but there are times that the need for a brother exceeds the need for sense, and there are things that I feel I must share somehow. I hope you will forgive me this much.
I struggle to believe such a length of time has passed since the flight from Gilneas. The autumn harvest seems to have happened only yesterday, although my fond memories may be to blame for that. I do apologize once more, as it happens, for the incident involving the errant apple and your shoulder. The apple had been intended for the back of Peter's head, but you know my aim never was very good.
I have not returned to Gilneas since the escape. While rumor whispers that a resistance continues in the forests beyond the Wall, the conditions remain too unsafe. I must confess that even were it possible to return, I am uncertain that I could do so immediately, as there is likely to be little left of home as we knew it. My last glimpse of the farm was of the very ground cracking amidst the trees in the orchard; I can only imagine all is swept away by this time. To actually confirm as much with my own eyes would be to admit to the finality of the situation -- a task to which I still find myself unequal, if this letter is any indication.
I am also no longer residing with the kaldorei who aided our escape, and have fled for the relative anonymity of the human lands. It was too difficult to witness the daily flow of refugees and note the conspicuous absence of many familiar faces. I return occasionally to ask after new arrivals, but otherwise pass the vast majority of my unclaimed time in the city of Stormwind. Do you recall Father's stories of that place? You may have been too young at the time. If you do, know that it is much altered from how he related, but still quite impressive. It is not and can never be Gilneas, but for now it forms a kind of home. I have joined company with an accord of most welcoming individuals, and have even forged several friendships of a sort. (I know you are laughing at the prospect of this. Pray do stop.) Most of my personal acquaintances are Gilnean, tis true, although any distrust I encounter from others here appears to be more a function of what I am suspected to be rather than what I am known to be. A subtle change, but a most welcome one.
One of these new acquaintances actually helped to form my motive for writing this letter, as a situation occurred recently which has given me much food for thought. The gentleman, a Mr. D---, had incurred some wounds by standing at the wrong end of a knife and called upon a prior pledge I had made to render friendly assistance as needed. During the several hours I spent in his company mending and observing, however, I was given increasing reason to be alarmed.
Mr. D--- is a fellow countryman who acquired the curse, but appears to have embraced it more than most, to put it delicately. He prefers to stay in his bestial form, and I might say that at times his behavior changes most abruptly to match it. On at least two occasions during our meeting, I feared for my continued physical integrity. Now, I have experienced many varied responses to the healing process as tis never entertaining and commonly painful, but never have I witnessed such as his. I was very relieved to have the additional company of another acquaintance when the second incident of odd behavior occurred. I was worn through from the work of mending by that time, and Mr. B---'s presence was more than welcome. (I do wish you could meet Mr. B---, by the by, as I believe that you should find him an amusing acquaintance. He is all that is proper and obliging, contrary to yourself, although he does appear to share with you a perverse delight in twisting my words and vexing me. Regrettably, while ponds are available here as well, I am not able to retaliate by ducking him in them.)
You may wonder how the business of Mr. D--- pertains to you and why it has spurred me to write after so long. You see, Mr. D---'s situation carries too much familiarity for me to simply ignore it. As such, I have formed a resolution, both from concern for him as well as from the hope of beginning an apology long overdue. I mean to help Mr. D--- as I could not help myself, and perhaps spare him a similar grief whilst discharging some of my debt to you. I know there is no apology -- spoken or otherwise -- that could ever be fully adequate and that some things cannot be mended, but I am determined to try. Can you fault me?
I will spare you further uninvited ramblings and close this letter. Whatever the outcome of my attempt, know that you are ever in my thoughts and in my heart. You will always be my beloved brother.
Yours, etc.
P.S. Should you happen to meet with G---, do please tell him that I understand now, and that I have long forgiven him. ~C.
[The letter is carefully folded, sealed with a dollop of wax, and promptly thrown upon the kitchen fire.]
Dear Martyn,
Allow me to begin with an apology for the existence of this letter. I recognize the folly of writing, but there are times that the need for a brother exceeds the need for sense, and there are things that I feel I must share somehow. I hope you will forgive me this much.
I struggle to believe such a length of time has passed since the flight from Gilneas. The autumn harvest seems to have happened only yesterday, although my fond memories may be to blame for that. I do apologize once more, as it happens, for the incident involving the errant apple and your shoulder. The apple had been intended for the back of Peter's head, but you know my aim never was very good.
I have not returned to Gilneas since the escape. While rumor whispers that a resistance continues in the forests beyond the Wall, the conditions remain too unsafe. I must confess that even were it possible to return, I am uncertain that I could do so immediately, as there is likely to be little left of home as we knew it. My last glimpse of the farm was of the very ground cracking amidst the trees in the orchard; I can only imagine all is swept away by this time. To actually confirm as much with my own eyes would be to admit to the finality of the situation -- a task to which I still find myself unequal, if this letter is any indication.
I am also no longer residing with the kaldorei who aided our escape, and have fled for the relative anonymity of the human lands. It was too difficult to witness the daily flow of refugees and note the conspicuous absence of many familiar faces. I return occasionally to ask after new arrivals, but otherwise pass the vast majority of my unclaimed time in the city of Stormwind. Do you recall Father's stories of that place? You may have been too young at the time. If you do, know that it is much altered from how he related, but still quite impressive. It is not and can never be Gilneas, but for now it forms a kind of home. I have joined company with an accord of most welcoming individuals, and have even forged several friendships of a sort. (I know you are laughing at the prospect of this. Pray do stop.) Most of my personal acquaintances are Gilnean, tis true, although any distrust I encounter from others here appears to be more a function of what I am suspected to be rather than what I am known to be. A subtle change, but a most welcome one.
One of these new acquaintances actually helped to form my motive for writing this letter, as a situation occurred recently which has given me much food for thought. The gentleman, a Mr. D---, had incurred some wounds by standing at the wrong end of a knife and called upon a prior pledge I had made to render friendly assistance as needed. During the several hours I spent in his company mending and observing, however, I was given increasing reason to be alarmed.
Mr. D--- is a fellow countryman who acquired the curse, but appears to have embraced it more than most, to put it delicately. He prefers to stay in his bestial form, and I might say that at times his behavior changes most abruptly to match it. On at least two occasions during our meeting, I feared for my continued physical integrity. Now, I have experienced many varied responses to the healing process as tis never entertaining and commonly painful, but never have I witnessed such as his. I was very relieved to have the additional company of another acquaintance when the second incident of odd behavior occurred. I was worn through from the work of mending by that time, and Mr. B---'s presence was more than welcome. (I do wish you could meet Mr. B---, by the by, as I believe that you should find him an amusing acquaintance. He is all that is proper and obliging, contrary to yourself, although he does appear to share with you a perverse delight in twisting my words and vexing me. Regrettably, while ponds are available here as well, I am not able to retaliate by ducking him in them.)
You may wonder how the business of Mr. D--- pertains to you and why it has spurred me to write after so long. You see, Mr. D---'s situation carries too much familiarity for me to simply ignore it. As such, I have formed a resolution, both from concern for him as well as from the hope of beginning an apology long overdue. I mean to help Mr. D--- as I could not help myself, and perhaps spare him a similar grief whilst discharging some of my debt to you. I know there is no apology -- spoken or otherwise -- that could ever be fully adequate and that some things cannot be mended, but I am determined to try. Can you fault me?
I will spare you further uninvited ramblings and close this letter. Whatever the outcome of my attempt, know that you are ever in my thoughts and in my heart. You will always be my beloved brother.
Yours, etc.
P.S. Should you happen to meet with G---, do please tell him that I understand now, and that I have long forgiven him. ~C.
[The letter is carefully folded, sealed with a dollop of wax, and promptly thrown upon the kitchen fire.]