Letters from old friends (a collection in progress)
As a few people have requested these... I post them. Note that as far as I know the existence of these letters is known to only a very select group of people.
In which an old friend and a young woman each write to a certain person at High Reaches Weyr, or in which an old nemesis conveys requests.
It's an incredibly simple thing, this letter bearing the simple stamp of the runner station a day's journey from High Reaches Hold. Anyone could have sent it. A friend. An old guard. Someone R'en once worked with. There's nothing about the slipcover that the letter's encased in to suggest that it's anything other than that.
This is entirely appropriate, since that's in fact exactly what it is.
Unfolded, the letter within is written in an untidy block print, the hand of a child or someone hardly used to writing with implements so fine as pen and ink. It is nothing like what it should be (what it should be: a particularly tight, old-fashioned script, upright like a lefty might write, angular and disjointed). The words, the language, the choices must speak for themselves.
What they say:
Jensen,
It was so good of you to visit. I'm so sorry I never got the chance to
return the favor! Perhaps soon I'll be able to put right that
oversight.
In the meanwhile, I'm not exactly in a position to invite you to visit
me, so I have to ask your forgiveness twice.
I know you'll give it.
Will write again soon. Look after the Hold's news for me.
In lieu of signature, a blot of ink, the kind of splattered mess one gets when one breaks the nib of the quill.
This time, the letter comes by way of a guard, Urbann. At least he knows who to deliver it to without any delay.
Unlike the one before it, it bears no runner-station stamp; it's cased, but must have come in a larger packet, or by other means. The hide inside the slipcover is of inexpensive make; the lettering is entirely unlike that which came before. Now it might seem to be a woman's hand, a style she'd use for her most formal letters (or her love notes): characters curved gracefully to the right, descenders long and flowing with swashes at the beginning of each paragraph. It is perfectly fitting for the content.
Jensen,
Thank you so for writing back. It's truly a pleasure to hear
from you, and I'm glad to know you're faring well at the
Weyr. Do they feed you enough?
The weather here is really quite lovely. It's my hope you'll
get to see it sometime. We have the most interesting company
to keep, too - though none, of course, so interesting as
yours.
Do write again soon. The boys and I miss you so!
In lieu of signature there lies a blot of ink, the kind of splattered mess one gets when one breaks the nib of the quill. It is, of course, not quite like the last one. No two pens are ever the same.
In which an old friend and a young woman each write to a certain person at High Reaches Weyr, or in which an old nemesis conveys requests.
It's an incredibly simple thing, this letter bearing the simple stamp of the runner station a day's journey from High Reaches Hold. Anyone could have sent it. A friend. An old guard. Someone R'en once worked with. There's nothing about the slipcover that the letter's encased in to suggest that it's anything other than that.
This is entirely appropriate, since that's in fact exactly what it is.
Unfolded, the letter within is written in an untidy block print, the hand of a child or someone hardly used to writing with implements so fine as pen and ink. It is nothing like what it should be (what it should be: a particularly tight, old-fashioned script, upright like a lefty might write, angular and disjointed). The words, the language, the choices must speak for themselves.
What they say:
Jensen,
It was so good of you to visit. I'm so sorry I never got the chance to
return the favor! Perhaps soon I'll be able to put right that
oversight.
In the meanwhile, I'm not exactly in a position to invite you to visit
me, so I have to ask your forgiveness twice.
I know you'll give it.
Will write again soon. Look after the Hold's news for me.
In lieu of signature, a blot of ink, the kind of splattered mess one gets when one breaks the nib of the quill.
This time, the letter comes by way of a guard, Urbann. At least he knows who to deliver it to without any delay.
Unlike the one before it, it bears no runner-station stamp; it's cased, but must have come in a larger packet, or by other means. The hide inside the slipcover is of inexpensive make; the lettering is entirely unlike that which came before. Now it might seem to be a woman's hand, a style she'd use for her most formal letters (or her love notes): characters curved gracefully to the right, descenders long and flowing with swashes at the beginning of each paragraph. It is perfectly fitting for the content.
Jensen,
Thank you so for writing back. It's truly a pleasure to hear
from you, and I'm glad to know you're faring well at the
Weyr. Do they feed you enough?
The weather here is really quite lovely. It's my hope you'll
get to see it sometime. We have the most interesting company
to keep, too - though none, of course, so interesting as
yours.
Do write again soon. The boys and I miss you so!
In lieu of signature there lies a blot of ink, the kind of splattered mess one gets when one breaks the nib of the quill. It is, of course, not quite like the last one. No two pens are ever the same.