He does not think of anything but the flight. (Three flaps, then glide. Three flaps, then glide.) The sad man had chosen him to fly, not to think.
So he flies.
The eerie cold of Solterra persists until the Armas, where it suddenly becomes a normal cold, the plain old chill of altitude. The little crow could not say how he knows the difference- it is just something you feel in your feathers. He looks around with his one good eye, careful to avoid ravens and hawks and the like-- everyone knows they are particularly troublesome here. But it is a quiet evening and everyone seems too busy hunting or socializing to bother the messenger.
Once he's over the mountains, it is a straight shot to the court. Usually he goes directly to the rookery, but this time is different. This time he is to go to the library, and look for a very distinctive lady. His client had the most remarkable gift of showing him an image, in his head, of the woman. When he finds her, in the library as expected, he is disappointed that she is not quite as beautiful as he was expecting. But he knows all too well that boys sending letters (particularly the ones who send flowers as well) to beautiful women are typically not fully grounded in reality.
He sits on the windowsill and squawks loudly, first to get her attention and then to tell her of his journey in a language she won't understand. He tells her of the man with sad eyes who sent him. He doesn't get chosen as a messenger very often, you know, because of his missing eye and mangled feathers and all that, whatever, but the sad man must be a smart man too, because he looked the little crow in the eye and he just knew that this, this was a fellow who would get the job done! And here he is, despite the downright creepy weather, really once in a lifetime stuff, and--
the mare clearly doesn't understand him so he stops, disappointed, and hops to a large wooden table where he unties the letter from his leg. It had not been properly sealed (the crow tuts, finds this insulting) and it uncurls neatly as soon as it is untied. He looks at the scrap of paper, ruffles his feathers (a few fall out, he can never seem to keep them) and watches the woman read. He's hungry, and rather upset that he flew all this way for this-
Moira T,
The jasmine has stopped blooming here, but I still close my eyes and try to remember how it smells. I don't think it helps me sleep but it reminds me of you.
Please let me know you are alive and well. The world would seem much darker without you in it.
I would like to see you again.
Eik
@Moira <3 long overdue! He... he gave up trying to spell Tonnerre x'D
