<i>Or something. What else is it you do? I wonder. I have a fruitful imagination of you, idle.<br/>
<br/>
I have crowed about your letter, and now they all step back. Your association and its fearsome reputation are all I have need of there. I say 'they.' It is more than Teleyard, did I not tell you? I grow weary of gifts. At least Gharreld has gone quiet, now that you write. If you enjoy his scowl as much as your own, you should continue to do so.<br/>
<br/>
You are a brute and I wish not talk of war or battles. Say only you are safe, and that will do. The rest reaches our ears in monstrous tales enough without you putting paid to truth for anyone sneaking my letters to see. As I said, your reputation serves me.<br/>
<br/>
Sadly, my taste is not to the exotic where food is concerned. If we are gaming gifts, however, here is mead. Send me wine.<br/>
<br/>
Even more sadly, our father has taken ill, and our fashion has gone to night for the peaceful sleep we wish him. Would I could wear your earring, but alas. Any sparkle must wait for his soul to pass, lest it linger thinking it is already among the stars.<br/>
Now we are all certainly lopsided.<br/>
<br/>
Write soon. Gharreld cannot make any of us marry while he himself is unwed, but the letters give him enough pause where I am concerned, at least.<br/>
</i><br/>Ryland's big R was looped at the bottom, with his usual scrawl.<br/><br/>Around neck of the bottle of mead was a ribbon, and tied to the ribbon was a resin cast, pressing a lock of golden hair to the white backplate of a brooch.