In Which Holladrin Whispers Westward

February 14, 1158

Holladrin was ordinarily a rather verbal young woman with a certain grasp for wording, conversation, and correspondence--and yet, for some reason, she found herself putting down her quill, staring in resignation at the page, blank save for the words "Dear Octavius" in her own delicate, slanted hand.

Perhaps it was that she was simply tired--it was rather late, after all. Or maybe it was because the last letter she had recieved from him had been so incredibly beautiful it would undoubtedly put any drabble she could come up with to shame. In fact, not a single one of his letters had been anything short of poetry; if Holladrin had a way with words, then what Octavius possessed was nothing short of lingual omnipotence.

Of course, she was probably one of the blessed few who knew that--he'd always been rather shy.

Oh, to hell with it! She would finish the letter in the morning; it wasn't as if she could have it delivered tonight anyway. Besides, this way, she would have the night to think about what to write.

Her mother had always slept with a newly-recieved letter under her pillow, and in the morning, she had always had a reply. She had claimed that the words came to her in her dreams; Holladrin decided she would try that tonight.

After a quick coughing fit, she made her way to her bedchamber's west-facing windows and gazed at the horizon, as she had done every night since the arrival of her brother Roderick's first word from Naroni. So many of the people she had grown up with, the people she cared about, now lived there, in that land that was all but a mystery to her. Octavius, her cousins, Roderick, the nephew she'd barely known and the nieces she'd yet to meet...

Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that she had been allowed to go with her father and her brother Oswald. She wanted to see Roderick and Ietrin again, to finally see Leara and Camaline. She wanted to visit with Celina and her babies, Severin and his babies, Octavius and his babies...

Another bout of coughing overcame her. They had been frequent this evening, she mused as it ceased--perhaps she would have her maid sleep on the couch in her room, just in case.

"Goodnight, all of you," she whispered westward, though she knew there was no possible way anyone in Naroni could hear her. "I miss you."

Her mind was made up, she decided, feeling another coughing spell coming on; someday, she would see Naroni. Before she died, she would go to Naroni.

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