To A. Treadwell; A Letter from the Violet Flats
Posted: Thu Nov 29, 2018 3:37 am
Razasan fell away in the orange daylight. They lofted the sails at morntide. Sea tugged the tradeship — stocked full of a unique and reddish lumber often coveted by rich men in other lands — out into its watery arms. The Glass Sun (it would always be the Glass Sun to her, even if Jernoah was a lifetime away) scattered daylight across the sea. When finally sight of land had been lost and all that surrounded them was a world of water, the nausea began to strike her like a relentless bludgeon.
She'd purchased her way with her own coin; they gave to her a quarters to share with a female cook and another woman with pale, cloudy eyes that saw phantoms in the night. Their windspeaker, they called her. Their good fortune. Their luck to avoid pirates on the Violet Flats.
She'd purchased her way with her own coin; they gave to her a quarters to share with a female cook and another woman with pale, cloudy eyes that saw phantoms in the night. Their windspeaker, they called her. Their good fortune. Their luck to avoid pirates on the Violet Flats.
Mister Treadwell,
It has been some time. I hope that you will receive this missive in earnist and not with great disdain.
Over two years have passed since last I stepped foot in Myrken Wood. While I shoult warn you that this letter carries with it a distinct purpose, it does not come without accompanyment of my well-wishes: my hopes that your family is well and that you are in good health and that rumeatism has not stolen much from you. Bid well your wife, we met but once and I fear I have not left for her a good impression. These words will pro pr proseed my return to Myrken Wood by many, many days; these men aboard this ship, they have taught their gulls such wondrous tricks and among these the carriage of letters from shore to shore.
These past many months I have spent in Razasan in equal parts stagnasion and discovery. Maybe you have found the same in Myrken Wood.
It is after your expertese that I shoult inquire, to wit: the current standing of Myrken Wood's leadership, council, and its members. I know that Genny Tolleson still oversees the Inquisitory (and this I imagine she does with great talent; I shall hope she is given fine support from the town) and yet with the absences of Ag. Kazmerrik and G. Burnie, Marshalls Emory and Egris, I am left to wonder in what capable hands matters of the town are commended — other than your own of course, which I know still tirelessly attend.
Does a Council still exist.
And does this Council seek for new members. And if so, how may one further find herself in a position of consideration.
Here is a truth: in my absents I have lost touch with Myrken Wood and expect that upon my return I will be required to both answer for my relocation and refresh my memory as to the town's intricacies. Here too is a truth: it is upon my return that I must distance myself from those to whom I have afflicted previous pain, Mister Catch among them, and yet a woman of great potential cannot long be left to stagnate in the fashion I have; I shall bore you none with the mistakes of my trava trevil travails. And yet here I offer another truth: I am brash and bold and will let my tongue speak freshly, many times unreasonably, but believe I may put this quality of mine if harnessed well in the service of the province which gave me purpose for life.
Upon my return I must first touch base with Genny Tolleson, but my second matter of busyness is to take you up on the offer you made many years previous: a repast in your home, that you may meet a more willing and patient Gloria Wynsee. There too we may share a pipe for I have got good Razasani root in my purse.
Any responses may be given to couriers bound for Palovia Sound for it is from that port I have been told where the gulls are released.
Gloria Wynsee