Lucy,
I don't understand why I can remember Mum and Dad and you can't. To answer your question, though, a mum is a woman who cares for, feeds and loves her children. She makes sure that they are safe and warm. She tucks them in at night and reads to them. She teaches them how to behave and mind their manners, she teaches the girls how to be women. She is….mum. I don't know how else to explain her. She's…Mum.
A dad goes out and works for the money and food. When he has to, he goes and fights for his country and family. When necessary he helps the mum with housework and cleaning. He's the protector and provider for the family. The head of the house if you know what I mean. He plays with the kids and teaches the boys to be men. He's dad. He is the protector; he makes you feel safe.
I suppose that I have somewhat taken on the fatherly role to you, Ed and Su.
Oh, bother. I didn't explain that very well at all. I hope you understood but if you didn't, I'll understand. If you really didn't get it I'll try to explain better in my next letter. Until then I'll be trying to figure out how to explain it better.
Those bicuits you made for me were wonderful. Thank you. I don't care what Edmund says; they are great. Orieus stole them from me, using his old excuse of me getting fat and then ate a few himself.
I hope he chokes on them. (I hope you know I'm not serious when I say that, I'm just trying to make you smile.) I love your smile. You don't know how much I miss seeing it everyday. Nobody smiles here. Everything is gray and dull. I miss home where everything from the floor to the ceiling is colorful and filled with life. Did that chandelier that the dwarves were making for us ever come?
Despite their surly point of view I really do like the Dwarves. They are hard workers no matter how much they complain they still get everything done. I think we could all take a lesson from the Dwarves.
I'm very sorry to here that you have the chicken pox. I'm sure the healers can take care of you, however, and will keep you as comfortable as possible. Perhaps they know a cure here. Back in Spare Oom I remember having to suffer through it with no cure at all. It itches, though, doesn't it? Well, I hope you feel better soon, but, since this isn't a huge catastrophe, I can't leave the army. We all suffer from the chicken pox at one part of our lives. You are no exception; no matter who gave you a magic cordial that can heal almost everything. Although I hate the thought of you suffering, I can't come home, not yet.
I have been thinking, we should save your cordial for mortal wounds. Maybe that way it won't run out. If you treat only the dying then you will save it. If you treat everyone then it will run out very fast.
Has your souvenir arrived yet? Those pipes should have a light, lilting sound. Maybe you can learn a song to play for me when I get home.
Before I forget, could you please ask Su to put together a huge feast for the anniversary of Beruna? We should have it outside again, just like last year. You would love that wouldn't you? You could dance with the Dryads and listen to Father Christmas tell stories. You remember last year, when they crowned you with a wreath of sunflowers and Su with a crown of roses? You two giggled so much I thought you would burst.
At the last Anniversary, I remember trying to dance with a Naiad. I got soaked. I was so glad that someone thought to bring towels. We should hold this one down by the beach, though, that way the Mer-people can join in more easily.
I'll leave you two to the planning. Those were just my thoughts.
The battles are going in our favor so far and if all continues well, I might be home in time for the celebration.
It's been a few days since I wrote about the celebration, and I feel that I should let you know: in the last battle, while I was fighting one of the Mage-giants, I was caught from behind with a club to the back. It knocked me a little ways and is taking longer than it should to heal. I may be back sooner than I thought.
It has been two weeks since I wrote that last bit and I'm still not allowed out of my bed. The wound has become infected repeatedly, I almost always have a fever. Unless something miraculous happens, I fear that I will be making the journey Home soon.
Pray for me, my dear sister.
Love always,
Peter
