Burns Too Bright, Lives Too Fast

Matrim, Arthur wrote down, adding little flourishes to the letters as he'd been taught. Your previous letter left much to be desired, but I have come to expect nothing less. He leaned back and let the ink dry for a moment.

It had been a while since he'd last had the time to sit down and communicate with anyone outside of Camelot, let alone call. And there was no excuse to ride out and hang about the woods in sight. But he'd finally gotten an hour or so to himself to work on returning some correspondence, at least, in a more classical sense of the word.

Send my deepest condolences to your wife, he added, because he was a jackass like that. I can't begin to fathom what she must find herself forced deal with on a daily basis. None of that is of any real import, however, as I do not find myself saddled with your presence. Preparations for the seeding season have started. Now that all the ice has thawed and the farmers can return to their lands...

And so on, and so forth, and signed with about a million titles.

Ah, Mat. Arthur supposed he should start writing a few other friends as well.

[[ open to a wizard and to written letters for a change, though it shall be on sp. ]]