For Jirai, the simplest of missives:

[Carnath-Emory]

Because the dealings between these two women always had been simple -- on their surface, at least. There is a certain purity in their working relationship, and it displays itself clearly in such moments as these. The note is sketched upon a single sheet of parchment, folded over once at its section, and the tavern's barkeep will deliver it into no hand but hers. It reads:

[INDENT]Jiray,
We exchange that prize once more: I have use for the crossbow.
You will find me here.
[/INDENT] There is no name signed to this, because no name needs to be; this is a matter of months-old understanding.

[Jirai]

The note had been delivered, but remained unopened until the woman was far from the tavern. Once that prerequisite had been accomplished, though, slender fingers flicked the parchment open.

The swordswoman's spelling had improved, the woman mused idly as she scanned the few words, reclining back in the darkness. She shredded the paper after one reading and, after several long moments, rolled to her feet once again. Reaching down to the side, both hands caressed the smooth wood and fine crystal.

She laughed and slung the weapon over one shoulder.