Letters
A'son finally feels Satiet's pain.
He recieves his first letter.
Caitlyn:
A small leather, drawstring pouch is settled atop the weyrleader's desk - tied loosely closed with its own strings - though a rolled-up scrap of leather protrudes from its puffed out bulk.
And when A'son might finally open the pouch, within is a set of tattered rank cords partially eaten away by Thread - a wingleader's affair of Istan orange and black, with a streamer of blue woven within. And upon the piece of hide, when it is unrolled, is a quick, jerky cursive: 'I wonder if you're as relieved as I am to be rid of these?'
A'son:
Caitlyn will at some point recieve a note by her bed in the infirmary. It's not signed, but the handwriting is decisively man-ish in the way it's done. It reads: No.
He recieves his first letter.
Caitlyn:
A small leather, drawstring pouch is settled atop the weyrleader's desk - tied loosely closed with its own strings - though a rolled-up scrap of leather protrudes from its puffed out bulk.
And when A'son might finally open the pouch, within is a set of tattered rank cords partially eaten away by Thread - a wingleader's affair of Istan orange and black, with a streamer of blue woven within. And upon the piece of hide, when it is unrolled, is a quick, jerky cursive: 'I wonder if you're as relieved as I am to be rid of these?'
A'son:
Caitlyn will at some point recieve a note by her bed in the infirmary. It's not signed, but the handwriting is decisively man-ish in the way it's done. It reads: No.