Ruffnut waited anxiously for a parchment to arrive at Berk's post docks. Everytime, she left empty handed. Eventually, her friends began to ask why she had such a long face. Ruffnut couldn't admit to herself how disappointed she felt, but her expression appeared to have betrayed her.
One day, there was a scroll intended for her, unmarked. Like a ritual that suited only herself, Ruffnut grabbed the scroll's handles like a bequeathed sword and felt its smooth surface under her fingers. She ogled at the handles' dark, polished, conservative design. She then ran her palms against the paper, which was tied with a heavy, practical thread. It was fibrous and weighted- -no doubt a drafting paper for inventories a mile long, or for contracts. She had a thought it might have been the only paper her recipient could have had on demand.
Ruffnut rushed to her house with the scroll tucked under her tunic to not arouse her parents or brother, and then she unfurled it on her desk.
Creature, the runes of the scroll began in overpracticed, hypnotic calligraphy, you waste your time writing your fantastical curses to me. If my counting is correct, this has been our third exchange, and the cost of delivery and ink to entertain you is not an expense I want to account for any longer. Since you are barely a child, you may not have noticed that these goods come with a price. I am not surprised that even in writing, you are a nuisance. Furthermore, if you have not realized, it has been quite enough of a while since you and your idiot entourage have sunken my ship and stolen my property. It seems like the letters of warning by my council have not been effective, so I am writing instead to tell you to cease and desist. My men and I have no patience for these letters any longer. Find another priority, or finding you shall be our first.
Ruffnut snickered, and quickly found her stylus and smaller parchment sheets.