Dear Family,
Too much military training, not enough history and other scholarly things. They've been trying to get me into a suit of armor all day. I refuse, I absolutely refuse to put that thing on. It looks far too big for me...and it's ugly! Besides, how is one to mount a horse in that thing? Do knights use lifts, or what? Maybe they don't wear leg armor like my instructor told me to do.
Enough about me, and my troubles with armor. Have you started teaching little Caprice her letters? Is Benedetto behaving himself? You haven't found him a wife yet, have you? I pray you are all well.
Much love,
Kain
Dear Kain,
You want to wear that armor someday and you know it! Only joking. Things are moving along very smoothly here. Caprice is learning her letters even more quickly than you did! We were so very proud when she read your last letter out loud to us!
Don't worry about Benedetto getting married anytime soon, he's frighted off every potential bride so far, mostly because he tried to serenade them and we all know good and well he can't sing. I suppose it's the thought that counts.
Caprice would like to tell you that she's learning all of her numbers, too, and that she wants you to hurry up and come home so you can hear her count. She also wants to let you know that soon she'll be writing you her own letters.
Don't do anything to hurt yourself, son. And perhaps you could tell your instructor to get you a smaller suit of armor?
Love,
Your Mother.
Kain folded the letter, his favorite letter from his parents, and set it aside. The ink was smudged, and the paper was crumpled and yellowed from all the times he'd read and reread it over the past two years. He was 17, and hadn't yet had a chance to get home. This year, though, this year he was going to make it, if it killed him, he was going to make it. Caprice had a way with words, he could tell just from reading what she'd written him. He wondered what she looked like now. He wondered what Maleah looked like, too. The last time he had seen her, she'd hadn't quite grown into herself, and she had been awkward as a newborn fawn.
"Oy, Kain!" called his roommate, an irritable young man named Othello.
"What do you want?"
"Well, some wench called Maleah wrote you a letter, which I have in my hand...don't you care?"
"Don't you call her that..." Kain growled.
"Hn...you like her? Little tavern wench, is she?"
"Shut up!" Kain snapped, standing up from his chair. Othello held the letter in his hand, smirking.
"Why don't you hit me once? I'll give it to you then..."
Kain, growing annoyed, did so, knocking Othello flat on his backside. He then took the letter from Othello's hand and ripped it open. It consisted of only a few sentences, Maleah's normally neat handwriting was made almost illegibly, for it was written hastily. The letter read:
Kain:
We're coming for you!
Maleah.
