IC INBOX for FADE RIFT

[slipshot]

 

Gavin has a little box stuffed full of notes. Feel free to stuff one in there, if you like, or come say hi.

 

The notes may just be all doodles. 

just saying.

 

Comments

A Letter

[dreadinquisitor]

[All the way from the Western Approach, it appears a few weeks after Maxwell has set off. Toward the end of Bloomingtide.

It's not a letter in the traditional sense, as there is actually very little to be read. The parchment is mostly taken up by a drawing: sweeping dunes, heavily shadowed by a sinking sun. Griffon Wing Keep sits to one side, Inquisition banners flying above its battlements. Dark, uncertain, four-legged beasts slip off the page on the opposite side, leaving tracks behind them that stretch across the sand. In the sky, off to one corner is a particular star.

The only text is in Maxwell's easy, handsome script.]

Wish you were here.

Re: A Letter

[slipshot]

[The letter that comes in reply is three pages in length - and no words. The first page has the same star at the top, in a carefully articulated hand. The rest of the images are sketchy, but goes as follows:

Gavin, cleaning up the stables, with a horse that looks like it is farting at him, tail up, and he with a very sad face.

Dax, waving his arms and yelling.

A little bird sitting on the battlements that has been sketched out far more throroughly that the rest,

and Gavin, sitting on the battlements, with a hazy shadow of Maxwell's figure sitting beside him, but not actually there.

I miss you, it says, without a word.]

[dreadinquisitor]

[The next is even less a letter. It's a cloth-wrapped bundle, carried by a tired scout who found the idea of playing lovers' go-between far more endearing when they weren't at the end of their journey and so very near a real bed. But it does arrive, a few small things tucked away for Gavin.

A pouch of ground herbs and flowers, sweet and fresh smelling, on a string, just long enough to be worn around the neck. A few sharp quills from an alpha quillback, carefully tied together. A small piece of lazurite, shining purple, then black, winking the faintest blue.

And a folded square of parchment upon which is heart, with a star inside.]

[slipshot]

[All that comes in return is a small packet of very dry, slightly burned cookies.

They don't taste very good, but with them comes a very quick sketch of Gavin standing with the baker.

Someone is trying to be good, Maxwell. Look he made them. And yes they are very stale by the time they arrive.]

[dreadinquisitor]

[Letting them sit in his tea softens them, and covers the worst of the ashy taste. He nibbles on them in the wee hours of morning, while the keep is still quiet and the sand still cool, and thinks of Gavin.

And smiles.]

[slipshot]

[A little time later, another letter comes. No package, this time, just some more drawings. Most of them are of Maxwell - collected sketches that Gavin had secretly done some time before, mostly while Maxwell was reading and didn't notice.

There's also a sketch of a halla, and of a star.

There are a few lines of text, crossed out a few times, but rewritten again and again until the last time is perfect:]

I miss you, Maxwell. I don't deserve you, but I miss you.