Chapter Eight: All You Possess

Your soul is all you possess. Take it in hand and make something of it!

-Martin H. Fischer

xxXxx

Bettina's heart was pounding like thunder as she lightly stepped down the forest path. She brushed a single lock of black hair around her cheek, trying everything in her power to remain calm. 'Why did I volunteer for this? Why didn't I let anyone talk me out of it?'

For the others, that's why. She had lost her cousin to the monster and had watched others disappear forever after a single moment of carelessness. If the plan worked, no one would disappear again. If it failed… well, she hoped that the villagers would speak more of her bravery than of her stupidity.

The sun was beginning to set, sending the forest into a world of repeated shadows. A cool autumn breeze flew by, making her simple red cloak billow and wave like a flag. Bettina shivered from the chill and pulled the hood over her head. 'Please let the plan work! I don't even know what it is, but let it-'

A huge black wolf suddenly lunged from behind a bush, barely giving her enough time to see it before great paws slammed against her chest.

Bettina was forced to the ground, emitting a scream as the wolf made to bite her entire neck.

A single flash of white was all she saw before the wolf was suddenly slammed from the side, forcing it to roll violently away. A long, perfectly white cloak came into her vision, making the girl look up at her rescuer.

Bearskin.

The cursed trapper emitted a roar to rival the wolf's and actually pounced on him! Bettina sat up with shock, unable to look away as the man began wrestling with the rabid monster.

Savage snarls came from the beast's muzzle as he kept trying to bite Bearskin, but the trapper had too much experience to let him take more than one bite from his shoulder.

But Bearskin didn't scream. It was well-known that although his roar was fearsome, he never screamed or cried. Instead, he broke both of the front legs on the wolf and finished with his neck.

The terrible beast fell to the ground, never to rise again. But the pale man didn't rise either, choosing instead to hold his head between his hands in agony for several minutes.

"B-Bearskin?" Bettina stuttered, rising to her feet. "Are you all right?"

"… I'll be fine, don't worry about me," he groaned after another moment, stumbling to his feet. Then he looked at her with his warm black eyes. "Did he hurt you at all?"

Bettina rubbed the back of her head a little. "Besides a bit of bruising, I'm fine." Then she started laughing nervously. "For a second, I thought you weren't going to be able to save me."

Bearskin gave her a surprisingly gentle smile and grabbed both of the wolf's back legs. "That's all right. We only met this morning, after all. Now let's head back, your mother's probably worried sick by now."

"Probably," the twelve- year old agreed, walking alongside the cursed trapper as he dragged the huge beast behind him. Then she got a good look at the bitten shoulder, which had a few red marks that were trying to grow bigger. "You're bleeding!"

"I'd be surprised if I wasn't. That wolf's teeth were pretty sharp," Bearskin answered, still wincing a bit.

Bettina couldn't think of anything to say to that. Instead, it was all she could do, to watch the man's shoulder.

The cloth was slightly torn, providing a modest glance at the cuts as they bled onto his perfectly white clothing. The curse was fighting back against the redness as it tried to stain the simple shirt, but the only reason it was such a struggle was because of how much blood was oozing out of the bite wounds. The young girl was a little surprised that his blood wasn't already white.

"I'm sorry that you got hurt over me," Bettina said softly, feeling guilty about it. Whether or not the man showed it, he had to be in pain.

"Don't worry, it happens all the time." The pale trapper gave a very ironic smile, although it was a bit stiff. "One of these days, I'll figure out it's a bad idea to gamble with Death. He's going to start using weighted dice if I keep this up."

"You gamble with Death?" Bettina gasped in horror.

"Relax, that was just a metaphor. I'm pretty sure the likes of Death would be too busy to play dice with a cursed trapper, anyway. Oh look, there's the gate-"

"Bettina!" her mother wailed as she ran through the crowd of people near the gate and threw herself at her daughter. "You're not hurt, are you sweetie?" she asked while frantically checking for signs of injury.

"Mother!" the young girl cried out in mortification, trying to ease the woman's impressive grip on her shoulders.

"Don't scold her. The last hour's been really tough on her," Bearskin said gently as he threw his catch at the feet of the villagers.

"Now see here, I can scold my daughter if it pleases me!"

Bearskin looked at the woman in surprise, but shook his head. "I was speaking to Bettina, madam."

Both mother and child stared at him in surprise.

"Your daughter's quite brave, and so were you, for letting her go with me. You'll be very proud, once you're done being scared and angry at her. Mayor Drechsler, I have checked over the forest. This is the only wolf for miles, so it's the only one responsible for the deaths you mentioned."

"Thank heaven! And thank you, Bearskin," the portly man gushed as he shook the trapper's hand enthusiastically. "I now wish we had contacted you sooner."

"So do I. Bettina is unharmed, as I promised," he replied, gesturing with a gloved hand at the girl in the red cloak.

"Then here is what I promised," the mayor answered, pressing a small bag into the pale man's hands. "I wish it was more, though."

"The agreed amount is fine. I don't do this kind of work for the payment. Well, I'd best be on my way-"

"Nonsense! I have an excellent healer and that shoulder needs to be looked at."

The trapper shook his head, holding one hand to the shoulder in question. "I don't know what my blood will do to ordinary people and I'd rather not find out. Be well everyone, Bettina." She gave a short, strange bow to the young girl and took off running before anyone could stop him.

"Bearskin!" Bettina called out, but that was the last time she ever saw the legendary trapper.

ooOoo

The cursed woman was breathing heavy with pain, by the time she reached the cave she found while out scouting earlier that day. For all she knew, the cave had belonged to the wolf she had just killed.

She stumbled into the small opening, feeling strangely at home as she sat on the soft earth and dumped her latest earnings into the satchel. "That went fairly well," she groaned, stiffly unbuckling the satchel to set it aside. Then her shaking hands began working on the buttons of her shirt, so that she could work on her latest injury. It was difficult to ease the shirt off with her bad shoulder, but she managed it in the end.

At least the tightly wound bandages across her chest were undisturbed. She was quite lucky that her figure more or less resembled a stick but she lived in the fear that the bandages would one day be torn and her secret revealed.

Folding the cloak back so that it wouldn't rest on the bite marks, Bearskin fished around the satchel for a bottle of healing ointment. She went through the stuff at an alarming rate, second only to food. Biting back gasps of pain, she cleaned her wound with the stuff, and then wrapped a spare bandage with difficulty over the shoulder. It was a bit of an awkward angle to wrap the bandages, but experience had taught her a good way to tie the cloth over her sensitive skin.

'Telling people that my blood could carry trouble was a stroke of genius. There's no way in heck I'd be able to keep up this charade if I let other people doctor me.'

Her heart broke a little. These days, she often did favors for common people and nobility alike, and yet she couldn't so much as let them heal her, or touch her bare skin. A varying sized bag of gold was usually all she walked away with, unless the people were so humble that she could only ask for a place to sleep for a night or two. She didn't care about the reward, and had long lost track of just how much gold was inside her satchel. One thing was certain; when she found the place that could cure her, it was possible that she would never have to work another day in her life again.

'Two years. Has it really been that long since I left home?' she thought wistfully as she pulled on a fresh shirt and started buttoning it on with one hand. 'It feels like a century since I've seen Papa. I wonder how he's doing. How is Machida doing?' Her heart thumped painfully, just at thinking his name.

"He's probably a husband and father by now. Let him go," she snarled at herself, wishing that it would work for once. "Papa's probably fine too, he's a survivor. He doesn't need me to babysit him."

So why couldn't she stop worrying about him?

She sighed and pulled out a needle and thread to start repairing her blood-covered shirt. Only to discover that it was now too dark and she needed to find firewood. "Naturally," she sighed, stuffing everything into her satchel before forcing herself to crawl out of the cave again.

On the bright side, she didn't need a lot of firewood. Her cloak was more than enough to keep her warm.

ooOoo

Another town. Another job. Another bag of gold… and another tavern wench that couldn't take a hint.

"If you don't mind, madam, I prefer to dine alone," she growled between her teeth before taking a savage bite out of her bread.

"It's hardly possible to dine alone while in a tavern, good Bearskin," the busty woman crooned as she rubbed one of the trapper's arms, taking care to show off her long autumn-colored hair.

"It is if no one else is at the same table," she replied stiffly after swallowing, forcefully taking the woman's hands and turning them away. "I suggest you look after the other customers, before this one grows irritated enough to leave."

The young woman made an indignant sound, but at least she stormed off. The pale trapper sighed with relief and turned her attention back to her pasta. It was only her third time eating it, but was quickly growing addicted to the stuff. Too bad she knew for a fact that she'd never be able to make it herself.

The door to the tavern burst open, but Bearskin didn't look up. There were too many other weary travelers bursting in for her to bother with anymore. The pasta was far more interesting right now.

"Is Bearskin still here? Oh, thank heaven," a voice said with relief as steady footsteps made for the corner of the tavern she was sitting at.

The pale trapper suppressed a groan and looked up disinterestedly.

A portly man with graying hair was staring at her in shock and a large bag was tucked under one arm.

"Is something wrong?" she growled after swallowing her mouthful of pasta.

The man snapped to attention. "What, oh no! I… just assumed that you would be older, that's all."

"I get that a lot. Do you need help?" she asked while gesturing to the seat across from her.

"Y-Yes," the man said nervously, taking the offered seat. He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. "It's true that whatever you put on turns white as snow?"

"It would be an awful lot of trouble to dress this way on purpose. What would it matter to you?"

"A lot, actually." The man sighed and set his bundle on the table. "You see, my daughter's getting married in a month and she's my only child. The seamstress that was working on her dress had her shop burned down last week, as well as all the fabric she had. I've tried searching for more white satin, believe me, but since Princess Arabella is getting married in two weeks, there's none to be had for miles around. Even if the seamstress found some right after the wedding, two weeks would never be enough time to make a worthy wedding dress."

Feeling a bit curious, Bearskin took the offered bundle and unwrapped it. Inside was a great deal of blood red satin. "… You're not suggesting what I think you are, are you? I was led to believe that brides could wear any color they wish."

"They can, but my daughter's been dreaming of a white gown since she was a little girl. Please, I'm offering ten gold pieces if you'll do it and it would mean the world to my Celestina. You're my last hope, Bearskin."

The young woman looked at the red satin wordlessly. This would probably be the closest she would ever come to wearing a wedding dress, or even having anything to do with weddings. Even with the people accepting her, no priest was ever willing to let her witness a religious ceremony.

Bearskin didn't actually say whether or not she'd do it. Instead, she set aside her plate of pasta and took off her gloves so that she could unbutton one of her sleeves. Once one scarred arm was exposed, she unfolded enough of the satin to wrap it firmly around her pale flesh, like one of the mummies she had read about.

Her curse flooded onto the silky cloth, draining it of all color from the end closest to her to flood out through the rest of the stuff. But the farther the cloth was from her body, the slower her curse took hold of the cloth. The faux albino merely unwrapped the end her arm was in, and repeated the gesture near the center of the fabric, and then again from the far end.

Within minutes, the several yards of satin were every bit as white as she was.

"Oh, this is wonderful," the portly man crooned as he attempted to fold the cloth back into a small bundle. "It's even whiter than the first dress was going to be."

"It might be a good idea to keep quiet that I helped you," she informed him gruffly, taking the satin from him to fold it neatly. "The one presiding over the wedding might have problems with the bride wearing a curse's byproduct."

"I won't tell a soul, at least until after the wedding. Thank you, Bearskin. For being cursed, you are a true godsend." The man gave her another grateful bow after wrapping the cloth into its original packaging and handed her the promised money before leaving the tavern.

It was only then that the trapper realized that everyone in the tavern had been staring at her soundlessly, possibly since she started 'dyeing' the satin. It was possible that word would be spread throughout the city, even before the dress was done. Even the tavern wench that had been attempting to flirt with her looked stunned.

The pale woman rolled down her sleeve, put her gloves back on, and returned to her pasta. 'How is it fair that everyone benefits from my curse but me?'

ooOoo

Bearskin was well-aware that she didn't fit in with the other trappers. Even if it weren't for the fact that she was cursed and really a girl, she was thought an oddity for not growing a beard. Most other trappers spent weeks, or sometimes months without seeing another soul, so why bother with regular shaving?

She never lost an opportunity to speak of how facial hair drove her crazy, but that wasn't the only reason they thought she was strange.

There was her obsession with bathing.

Dressed in only a pair of thin pants and a short-sleeved tunic under the ever-present cloak, she washed one of her shirts by a small pool, deep in the forest, where she was unlikely to be intruded on. Even the bandages that held her chest in a manly shape were off and drying over tree branches along with her large collection of bandages. She had long learned that she could never have too many bandages, even if it took forever to wash all of them.

'It's amazing that no one ever notices how filthy I truly am,' she thought miserably as dried white blood began to work free from her shirt and filter through the water like freshly poured milk. A surprising amount of dirt was also coming loose, although it appeared to be white sand as it came loose to litter across the bottom of the pool like specks of silver.

"Sometimes I wonder if I do this so often, just to avoid people," she noted numbly, as she searched for an unoccupied branch to throw her shirt over.

A crow answered her before preening one wing.

She jumped a bit, since she hadn't noticed it sitting on a rock before. "Well, look at it from my point of view," the young woman explained while hanging up her shirt. "Even if I've been lying my entire life, or at least most of it, I hate doing it to people that trust me. Isn't it strange that they're willing to trust a complete stranger, sometimes even with their lives?"

The crow cawed, turning in its place to hunt for bugs.

"Well, I think it's strange," Bearskin confided as she started washing a pair of pants against a large stone. "They welcome me with open arms wherever I go now, sometimes with their hearts, but… now they're always expecting things from me. Did I destroy my own chances of getting cured by being a helpmate wherever I go?"

The crow suddenly decided to fly at her, cawing angrily.

She quickly held her arms over her head to protect against the sharp claws. "Ow, ouch! All right, all right; it was a stupid thought!"

The apology seemed to be enough for the crow, because it flew back to the stone, and resumed preening its wing.

"Ouch, somebody's opinionated," the trapper said between her teeth as she eased her bleeding arms to the water and resumed washing her pants from underneath the cool pool. "Was it really necessary to do that?" she asked while bending over awkwardly to continue her chore.

The next caw seemed rather smug.

"Yeah, well, you better be grateful I'm still bad with a bow and arrow," she snapped at the bird. "I've got a nice collection of scars without you adding to it!"

Too bad her collection was far from finished.

ooOoo

As often as Bearskin was the center of attention, it was no surprise that her favorite deeds were the ones no one knew she was responsible for.

Her heart pounded with excitement, as she studied a poor hovel for days. The family that lived in it was destitute, hardly able to even keep the shabby hut over their heads. The children were frail and sickly, hardly ever getting enough to eat, let alone have decent clothing on their backs.

It had taken her a week to sew up some sturdy moccasins for the two children and old woman, using only her finest handiwork for the task. The grandmother hadn't had money for shoes for what looked like a long time. She placed them into a large bag, along with packages of salted pork and fresh fruit, even adding a modest bag of gold into the sack, to help pay for the taxes and maybe even a goat for fresh milk. She'd have happily given them a goat herself, but didn't count on the animal being able to keep quiet and calm around her. She added a few thick woolen blankets instead, since winter was due to approach in a few more months.

On a moonless night, long after midnight, Bearskin stalked close to the little hut, taking more care than ever not to make a sound. The ground was littered with falling leaves and sticks, making the task more difficult than similar tasks had been during the summer and spring.

Once the large bag of gifts was resting against their shoddy door, she took out a length of rope and began the second half of her task. Being as silent as she could, she began fixing up the fencing around the house, so that if they did get a goat, it wouldn't be able to break free during the night. She had been tempted to use nails to hold the small logs together, but hadn't managed to buy any long enough in the last village. That was another part of her scheme to ensure that no one would know what she was up to; if she bought things at a trade store that showed up at some poor hovel in the same area, she would be found out pretty quickly.

This was something that she didn't want to become part of her public image. It was too special for her to allow people to know about.

By the time she was finished building the fence to be as sturdy as a rock, the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. She tucked the remaining rope into her satchel and gave a polite bow to the hovel. "May good fortune fall to you," she whispered before disappearing into the woods; always careful to not make a sound.

ooOoo

Bearskin circled around the large tree stump, inspecting it from every angle. "I can see you've already tried to move it."

"Repeatedly, with horses I borrowed from my neighbor. They only managed to move it about an inch. Do you think you could remove it?" the farmer asked anxiously.

She gave the man a guarded smile and sat down to prop her legs against the trunk. "Only one way to find out, sir. Erg!" She strained against the trunk, repeatedly kicking at the thick wood to make it move.

Even with her strength, it was tough. After ten minutes, all she was able to manage were a few inches, but the roots were deep and strong.

"O-Okay," she panted as she stopped trying to tear the trunk right out of the ground. "This job's going to need some strategy. Do you have an axe handy?"

"It's right here," the farmer said as he unhooked it from his belt. "But the trunk's a little low for swinging, isn't it?"

Bearskin grinned at the man, and held it like an executioner over her head. "It all depends on the angle, sir." Without another word, she slammed the axe into the trunk, making the grain split terribly.

The farmer gaped as she repeated the cut all the way through the center of the trunk, and then used her gloved hands to make the wood split in two separate pieces. She grunted and heaved, but it was still another hour before she worked both parts out of the ground, one at a time.

"Holy buckets, I didn't think it was going to come out!" the trapper said triumphantly as she tore remaining roots from the fresh earth. "No wonder you asked for help."

The farmer laughed as he helped her load the trunk wood into a waiting cart. "I'm surprised you agreed to help, personally. I thought for sure you would be busy rescuing a princess or saving a village from raiders."

"Not this week, no. But who knows what will happen next week?" the trapper laughed back, although she wasn't entirely certain that she was joking.

"Again, thank you for helping with that stubborn trunk. It will be a relief not to have to dodge it while using the plow anymore."

"No problem. Look, you even get some firewood out of the deal. Would you like me to go ahead and split it, as long as I'm here?"

He shook his head and gestured for her to follow him to his house. "I'll have one of my boys do it. Now, for payment, we've got a surplus of potatoes and carrots this year. I don't know if it's suitable, but-"

"It's fine. I'll take fresh food over gold any day. For some reason, gold doesn't taste very good."

The farmer laughed at that, actually slapping one knee. "You know, we've heard a lot of stories about you, Bearskin. But not a one of them said you were funny."

She shrugged indifferently as they entered his home. "I'm not always in a mood to crack jokes, sir. Plus it's a little unprofessional to make my opponents die laughing."

"Who's with you, honey?" a warm voice called from an entryway.

"Oh, just Bearskin, dear," the farmer said nonchalantly, although there was a wide grin on his face.

There were a few gasps heard, as well as a young boy running through a doorway to stare at the pale trapper. "Wow, it really is Bearskin!"

"Be nice, Hendrick," the father scolded as he led the young woman into the kitchen. "Can we spare a loaf of your best bread, dear? Bearskin was kind enough to help me with that old trunk we've been trying to get rid of."

His wife, a plump motherly sort of woman, didn't answer her husband. Instead, her fingers were frozen in the air; a comb in one hand and a simple pair of scissors in the other. A small boy was sitting in front of her, but his hair was still long and unruly.

Bearskin gave a polite bow to the woman. "Madam," she said respectfully, now that she was used to being stared at. She still didn't like it, but at least she was used to it by now.

"… Your hair!" the woman finally managed to say, still staring at the young trapper.

"Yes, dear; it's white. Every inch of him is supposed to be white, remember?" her husband said as he sifted through a large barrel of potatoes for the best ones.

"No, not that. It's just so shabby!" the woman declared, shooing her young son off of the chair.

Her husband wheeled around with shock. "Shabby?" he gasped fearfully, as if the trapper would lose her temper at such a remark.

Bearskin's eyes widened in disbelief. That was a word no one had ever used for her before, at least in her presence. "I cut it only two weeks ago," she defended, still surprised at the woman's daring.

"Not very well, I see. You look like you cut your hair with a knife," the woman scolded as she made the trapper sit on the simple chair.

"That's how I usually do it, yes. Are you seriously going to cut it?"

"You better believe I am! What if you have to go rescue some princess and your hair's a mess?" the woman asked as she started combing through snow-like hair. "That just wouldn't do at all!"

The young trapper was about to answer her, but the comb stopped her. She sat perfectly still as the simple wooden comb went through her hair, again and again as scissors began snipping at the strands.

She knew it was completely unreasonable, but… it reminded her of when Mama was alive. How many years had it been, since someone else combed her hair? It was so relaxing, that it was difficult to think of why she hadn't thought of missing it.

"… There! Now that's a proper haircut," the woman said after a while, setting down her scissors for a hand mirror. "What do you think of that, Bearskin?"

She took the mirror and looked at her reflection for the first time in over a year.

The scar she had gotten from a wife killer six months before had faded to a slim white line along her jawbone, and her eyes seemed… older, than they should have. The sadness, she could believe, but that much age in her eyes was something that usually war veterans had.

Too bad she wasn't a veteran yet. "I really like it," she told the farmer's wife as she touched the shortened locks. "It's much neater than it's been in years." 'Since Papa first cut my hair.'

"I'm glad you do, Bearskin," the woman said, folding the trapper's clipped hair neatly into a fresh handkerchief. "Now no lord or the like will be thinking bad thoughts about your hair."

"There's no guarantee that I'll be working for a lord soon," she had to keep from laughing as she bowed to the woman. "It's all right if the bag's only half-full, sir. I'm very pleased with the haircut."

The man nodded numbly and added a few apples into the bag before handing it over. "Thank you again, Bearskin. I hope you find your cure soon."

She gave him a melancholy smile and bowed her way out of his home. "So do I."

ooOoo

The village looked the same as several that had come before it. There were no more cold stares, but rather ones of shock and wonder.

Bearskin nodded politely at every person she passed, a slightly stiff smile on her lips as she shouldered one bag full of game and hides. The only ones she avoided these days were men in robes. They were usually priests of one type or another and no priest ever approved of her.

Frankly, she found all the shrill denunciations a little tiresome and was more than happy to avoid confrontations.

"Excuse me," she called out to an older boy, one struggling with a pail of water. "Would you know where the trading post is?"

"Sure," the boy said with a grin, point down the road. "Go right where you see that grey horse there and it's the second building on the left."

"Thank you," she replied gratefully, giving him a bow before continuing on her way. 'It feels nice, not to have people avoid me anymore. If only one of these villages would just accept me and end this stupid charade!'

She sighed sadly from the thought and let herself into the latest trading post.

The man behind the counter was sleeping, resting his head on his arms as a snore was heard.

Bearskin bit back a laugh, set her bag on the counter and gently shook one of his shoulders. "Sir? There's a customer here."

Nope. He was still sleeping. She shook a little harder.

Like she had stuck a pin in him, the old man leaped off his chair with a surprised shout.

The trapper jumped back a bit, but managed a nervous smile as the man calmed down. "Wow, that's the first time in two years I got that reaction."

The man behind the counter laughed nervously, as he looked at her. "Sorry about that, Bearskin. Haven't been sleeping well lately and…"

The pale woman waved a gloved hand dismissively. "It happens, don't worry about it. Has business been well?" she asked politely, keeping her voice gruff as usual.

"Quite well, actually. I have a letter here for you," the man informed her, kneeling underneath the counter to start sifting through boxes.

The trapper blinked in surprise. "A letter? How could anyone know I'd drop by here?"

"Oh, every trading post and general store for miles around has a letter like this waiting for you. The Baron is quite eager for a word with you."

She cocked a perfectly white eyebrow. "Which baron?" 'Please don't say of Ghule; he was disgusting!'

"The Baron of Piaal, of course. He loves hearing of your exploits and didn't want to take chances if you came through here. Ah, here it is!" the old man said triumphantly as he held up an envelope with a wax seal. "Do you need me to read it to you?" he asked, making to break the seal.

"Thanks, but I read just fine," she answered while holding her hand out for it.

He stared at her a bit in shock, but then handed the letter over.

Bearskin set her bag on the counter and tucked the letter into a pant pocket. "I'll read it later."

"The messenger that delivered it asked me to tell you, if you didn't read it immediately, that the baron has paid for the finest room in the Dragon's Breath Inn for you."

She stared at him in shock. "He did what?"

"Every inn between here and the Baron's manor has already received payment for their best room and board for you. He's been looking forward to the chance to meet you for at least the past two years."

"… Why? Does he have a problem I can help with?"

"I don't know. I was only told to pass on the message and the letter."

She looked down at the letter, biting her lip. "Would… you mind waiting a bit, before we get down to business?" she asked while pulling the letter out of her pocket.

"Not at all, Bearskin. Take as long as you need," the man encouraged as he kneeled down to start shifting boxes around again.

Before breaking the seal, the trapper studied it carefully. Compared to some of the seals she had seen before, this one was rather simple. Just a fancy 'G' with some mint leaves encircling it. At least, she was fairly certain they were mint leaves; for being a simple seal, the details were extraordinary.

Shrugging a bit, she broke the seal and opened the fine stationary to start reading.