Dear Gregor,
Several days have passed since I last wrote. Time is always short, so I will be brief.
It is chaos here. The rats refuse to accept any compromise for the war's end, Ripred is unpleasant about it, the crawlers are silent but sulky, the nibblers who remain alive want harsh repercussions for what the rats did to their race, the diggers throw dirt and frighten everyone, and the humans squabble amongst themselves. I am at my wits end. I threaten to banish them all to the Dead Lands, but no one listens to me. Nerissa said she saw this conflict occurring years ago, but this does not help much. It certainly does not solve anything. The rats have caused the most trouble, insisting that they will take no suggestion made by a human pup (meaning me), but it seems that even the adult rats are behaving in a much younger manner than I. After all, I have not harmed them yet or started another war. Neither have they, but they have threatened both. I have not even threatened. You would be proud of me. Ripred, on the other hand, is little help, and unapologetic. I do not know what Stellovet sees in having the crown and being in charge. Right now being the queen means nothing but hearing insult after insult, argument enough to cause nothing but headaches, angry words, and few victories. I do not know how my Uncle York has managed leading The Fount for so long. I fear that soon I will wring someone's neck, then join you in the Overland and leave everyone here to manage on their own. The only bright spots in this entire situation are Hazard and you.
I apologize for burdening you with my troubles. I said I would be brief, and clearly I was not. Perhaps Howard has a potion for my pounding head. I do not remember my parents having this much trouble leading Regalia, but I was very young then. I long for the days of freedom, playing ball games, running off to fly with Aurora, and long conversations with you. You were right. Starting the war was much easier than ending it is proving to be.
With love,
Luxa
