Miss Emory--
A man misguided, a man utterly lost, stumbled into the teahouse this evening without his boots, without his -memory- save for his name. Funny that I should have found his face familiar. Odd that his name should strike such a chord, when I have never before made his acquaintance formally.
I do not claim to know -who- he is, but I most certainly know -what- he is, and to whom he is loyal. He is a man, for the sake of Myrkentown, for the sake of our Wood, that is perhaps better never found again.
In such a case, then I may have already said too much, but I am a woman who has a weakness for strays. I have fed him, bathed him, clothed him, and would have allowed him to stay were my circumstances altogether different. I gave him a small purse that he might find his own way.
I am not certain that he knows in which direction he ought to turn. I could give him a direction, however, with but a word from you. He is a weapon, and you, I believe, are on familiar terms with the duke who might wield him.
I await your reply. I pray it is a hasty one.
As ever,
D. Sauveterre

