Image from Huntington Library Ms HM 60, f°7, 15th C.

Written this 17th day of March, AS LIII
Being 2019 of the Common Era

Dear Sweet Roise,

On this feast day of Saint Patrick, I have at long last arrived to my estates in the Hills of Ponca.

When last we parted, we both looked to the highways intent on return to our own country far to the north of the recently ended War of the Gulf.

Your company and agreeable disposition was ever a comfort to me during our time in those southern lands of Gleann Abhann.

Well pleased am I to have made your acquaintance with our good countrywoman, Mathilde. As she spoke of bread baking and shared her secrets, your elation outspread to all within earshot of your voice. My mouth waters recalling the toothsome taste, and anticipate when next you bake and I am close at hand.

You may recall my scathed ankle which received injury. You asked after it when we parted. Alas, it vexes me yet. A kind gentle known to me practices leechcraft and if it becomes wearisome, I shall seek her aid. I trust when next we meet, my stars shall be aligned once again.

Fie! The calamitous flooding in the northern territories of Calontir indeed brings fearsome worry to my mind.

As I drove my wagon north, many of the highways and bridges failed. I turned more oft to the byroads and smaller laneways, all crowded with wagons and carts also searching for safe passage. At long last I turned my wagon onto the lane leading to my own estate. Fortunate I was to pass unscathed with wheels intact. My good husband and untiring countrymen will labor many weeks to make the roadways safe again for passage.

My heart rejoiced upon learning our kith and kin and countyfolk hereabouts all remain safe and warm and dry. Alas, many of the livestock and cattle and beasts are lost to the waters. Long will be the travails which lie ahead for the countryside to return to our customary state.

I pray you arrived safely to your own estates and you and yours remain shielded from danger.

My friend, I must needs put aside pen and parchment, for my bed calls to me to rest these weary old bones. Indeed, as I recall my time with you and your sweet smile, my spirit warms.

Ever I look to times we may visit again.

Until that time, I remain your friend,

Nesscia