Times are hard at Woodnaught Castle. I find myself, sometimes, wondering what to do. I no longer have a swords teacher and, although I regret to say, my training has taken a serene dive. In fact, I feel terribly rusty.
My hopes are that, someday, I will become as trained a swordsman as you are. Of course, those are high hopes...I actually would prefer to lead a battalion or two. Not that there will be any wars, but for training. Again, my hopes are high.
I intend to travel in to the Village of the Misted Ones today, but I have an odd feeling that my Lady shall wish to postpone this trip.
I should very much like to write more, my dear friend, but a short letter will have to do for now. Perhaps I shall see you at Braknebville afore too long.