Wind cuts through the flaps of the tent and chills the air around her. It was warm enough both inside and out to keep the ice away, but the rain still stung enough.
Why did it matter, it was common already.
While Charr and people alike moved about outside, readying for a new push into the forest now struggling to stay in their grasp from the new Legion, she’s quiet. Only the sounds of the crowd below ,the distant horns, and the scribbling of pen on paper could be heard.
More scribbling. Constant, tricky, filled with uncertainty.
Okay, maybe this writing thing is not her chosen life after all.
She has to keep it up. In the middle of this hell, this battlefield and land, it’s hitting a point. Aggravation, concern, and above it all the nagging feeling that still lingered deep inside. On top of it, she’s had so many attempts at the same thing at home, and nothing has worked.
Might as well take the chance now.
The ink stained hands stop and her pen settles. The writing is sloppy cursive, some lines are scratched, but this was her last piece of paper.
No, she’s not about to ask who had paper in the middle of a war camp. That’s weird.
Envelope, wax, stamp. Sealed and written out.
They can’t hate her for trying.
It takes her a moment to get a carrier, but they are found and she talks. Her letter is passed, and without answering questions past where to send it, she’s slipping down the walls back to camp to gather her items and do one more scouting trip before she joins the others.
Her words are simple inside that envelope. Not great, but simple and true.
The silence is miserable, but you know that.
We’ve gone North, Drizzlewood. Another push inland
It rains a lot, not as cold. You’d like it I think. It’s peaceful
Be safe. Please be safe.
The day is drifting into dusk. She has to go now.
There is something in the distance that calls out.