The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Lavender curls up in the chair near the fireplace, wrapping a blanket over her lap. She reaches for a quill and some paper and proceeds to scribble down her thoughts. In the morning she will rise early and send the letter via a local townsmen by horseback. She will then pack her things and leave the quietness of the small cabin in the woods, hopeful that the letter will make it to its destination before she does.

Dear Cambree,

It has been a while since our eyes have met, but soon we shall be together again. I can not wait to hear your words, your laughter and listen to you tell your 'man' tales in person. The cabin here grows colder now and the little firewood I have will soon be gone. Primitive living I don't think I was cut out for.

She pauses, adding a giggle at her joke and adjusts her position in the wooden chair.

The trading here in Heath is amazing, just as you said it would be. I have new teas, new exotic fruits and various herbs that I will share with you soon. Your teas were a success here and I have sold all that I brought with me.

I am feeling much better and the bump on my head is barely noticeable anymore. Sometimes, I still get dizzy, but the doctor says that will go away eventually, too. I guess that is what happens when one tries to stop a table with their head. Remind me not to do that next time.

Tomorrow I will be leaving and riding back to Myrkenwood before the cold really starts to set in. I plan on attending the party and meeting your new Governor. Funny how things change even while others are away.

It is here that Lavender furrows her forehead. Her gaze adjusts to the window along the wall and a small tear falls down her cheek. Gently she reaches up to touch its wetness and wipe it away before it falls upon the parchment and leaves its mark. No tears now, happier thoughts, she tries to tell herself. But it is the loneliness that is now sinking into her bones, biting as much as the cold does. Gazing back at the letter she scribbles at the bottom.

Miss you,
Your cousin Lav

Cambree's exquisite features reveal excitement when this particular post arrives. Too many weeks of ill-patterened communication have been wedged between the cousins. As she is intent on reading every line composed by Lavender's hand, the teahouse madame seeks a moment of privacy.

Dismissing herself from duty, she leaves tearoom guests in care of Daveney. The madame then huddles on a back stair beyond the kitchen. These few minutes are spent in the afternoon cold, when she finds herself laughing at the quip reflecting primitive lifestyle.

Thankfully, there are warmer subjects within the letter's short body. Lavender's words are capable of defending her skin from the sunless day: The acceptance of her blends is powerful news. The promise of learning more about Heath from its regional plantings constructs her smile.

A chill seeps in through the thin weave of her dress, but Cambree remains on the uppermost stair facing the alley. Jaw producing a determined curve, she keeps her teeth from reaching sharp vibration, and reasons that there are only a few lines yet to read. She can remain outdoors for one more minute.

Her memory serves at the mention of her cousin's head injury. That hellish ruckus that bruised Lavender's skull happened in the worst moments her teahouse had ever seen - at least by Cambree's experience.

At the very last, Lavender mentions the news which her cousin has been waiting for: a promise of returning home to Myrkentown. What would Lavender think of the new wall that surrounds them? Cambree has listened to several arguments for and against the recent construction, and had found herself somewhere in the middle, undetermined, for a time.

The craft was a startling realisation on the morning of its birth, taking her and many others by surprise; however, the woman couldn't decide on her feelings until she had taken the time to look at it firsthand. It has been her nature to learn more of something (or someone) before making up her mind.

As a new day has dawned, and understanding with it, she has developed an interest for its existence. Appreciation has grown for the new Governor's progressive idea, and Syl Duquesne's excellent design and Miss von Drakken's daunting ingenuity.

Her new Governor. Yes, it was strange how things turned out. She found herself nodding along with Lavender's offhand comment, and then stopped her breath at catching the small detail of the younger woman's loneliness. She couldn't wait for her partner to be back.

Focus on those parting words bleeds strength from her jawline, which lets the shiver in. Getting back inside, she brings the letter - along with ideas of having Lavender home in time for the weekend's celebration. She will later, teasingly, say that her cousin's homecoming is what threw Myrken Wood into such festivities as dressing up and building fires.

A closed and wax-sealed scroll case arrives at the teahouse, sent by messenger to be delivered to Madame Swinton. Inside, a very short note on a page of parchment.

= = = = =

Cambree:

640,000/25 = 25,600

A.H.T.

= = = = =

Such a short message! One might almost imagine it a waste of perfectly good paper and ink.