Flickering lamplight turned the piece of cream-colored paper to gold. Hudson sat at the kitchen table with its rough wooden surface, and slowly took the cap from his pen. He frowned as he studied the paper, the expression drawing down his brows. Words that came easily in person were not so ready to hand when confronted with a blank space to place them.

Resting an elbow on the table, Hudson ran a scarred hand back through his hair and looked at the small array of items placed on the table around the parchment. There was a pair of small boats modeled along the same lines as the L?ir Mothan, brightly painted and sturdy enough to endure being sent down endless creeks or across wide ponds by a pair of active boys. Next to the boats was a curious sort of toy, a gnarled root that was so twisted back on itself it only seemed to have one end. It had no sharp edges, and was carefully smoothed and polished for a very young child?s grip.

Sylvia,

Mo daor caraid. I entrust this letter and the accompanying package to the captain of the Silver Swan with the reassurance it will be delivered to you promptly. By the time you receive it, the L?ir Mothan will be spending her mornings at sea, and I will be at her helm. Her first run of the season was beautiful, fine and clear, and I hold out the hope you will see her in the water in the not too-distant future.

Black ink left clean trails across the paper, glistening until it dried to dullness. Hudson studied the words and sighed. The suddenness of Sylvia?s retreat to Yransea meant he had not had a chance to bid her or her children farewell. She had departed before the seas were clear enough for the small boats, and not had a chance to take her promised ride upon the dory. Now he regarded the slowly-forming letter and sought for words that paper could hold.

From the paper his black eyes drifted to the last two gifts. For Maeve there was a small glass container that held a salve to ease aching hands and smooth the skin, a salve that smelled of roses and lavender. His gaze slipped past that to rest on the last item, a small jewelry box. It was closed ? he didn?t need to open it to picture the contents.

A fine chain held suspended a tiny, delicately crafted oil lamp charm. The body of the lamp was of white gold, and the fragile glass chimney was supported by a fine thread of the same gold that wove around the outside and created a net over the top of the chimney. Inside, where a flame would burn in a true lamp, there was a finely carved piece of clear amber. Hudson sighed again and looked back at the letter before he lowered the pen to the paper once more.

As I am no longer sure whether I will have the chance to take Cian and Aidan fishing, I have sent them boats instead that will sail on any waters, from tub to the ocean around Seansloe. The twisted root is a puzzling toy that rarely fails to distract, and hopefully will do the same for Beata as it has done for many generations of Fraisers ? keep her distracted and occupied when otherwise she might fret.

The salve is intended for Maeve, along with my most sincere thanks for her hospitality and welcome during our stay. I hope that it might bring her some ease and that she might think of me well. The last gift is for you, mo ionmhuinn, and it too carries my thanks and every good wish. From the first we met you have showed me nothing but courtesy and kindness, and been a steadfast and true friend. A light you have been for me during dark times, and so I return you a light in some small measure.

A fisherman settles his debts before he takes to sea, caraid, because the sea might collect on her debt at any time. While I cannot entirely repay my debt to you, I hope this makes some small beginning on it. I am sorry I did not have a chance to finish the tale of the fire that went out before you departed. Tha d?chas r?s a dearc thu*, leannan.

Hudson studied the words on the paper, and finally signed his name with a firm clear hand at the bottom of the page. Folding the letter neatly, he reached over and removed the chimney from the flickering oil lamp that illuminated the table. The flame of that served to melt sealing wax, and he removed his brooch to press the charging stag?s-head sigil into the puddle of red before it cooled.

Standing, he took a box and began to pack in the items neatly. Lengths of a muted blue and green plaid served to wrap the boats and the twisted root against damage, and he used another to carefully protect the glass jar of salve for Maeve. Finally he nestled the small white jewelry box in and closed and sealed the larger cardboard lid. A glance at the window showed the bare lightening in the sky that presaged dawn. The letter and the box would sail to Yransea with the morning tide.

((*I hope to see you again))

Sylvia had taken the afternoon to travel into town. The necklace with its lamp charm was warm against her skin. Often she would reach up to touch it, so different from what she had worn for almost six years about her neck, and yet it did not feel distracting. It was a soothing comfort of its reminder of light, friendship, and stories unfinished. Unfinished. It had been just the time before when everything felt finished. The world was finite and her at a loss of where to be in it. She was still at a loss, and even more confusion now.

Maeve, however, was just as steady as she welcomed Sylvia in to her home. ?Thank you, Maeve, though I will not stay long. I have brought a gift for you on behalf of Hudson Fraiser, who wants to thank you for your hospitality and welcome.? She held out the glass jar of salve that when opened would smell of roses and lavender.

?Come in, my lady, and sit a little while.? Aged hands took the jar to cup in their center as she walked. ?Oh, he?s a good, thoughtful, lad, isn?t he??

?Very sure to pay his debts,? Sylvia spoke as she took a seat.

?Debts is it? No such debt existed, but kind of him all the same to think of me.? She opened the jar with care and let the scent lift up as she breathed in. ?Oh, that?s lovely. I shall write to him and thank him. May I send it with your letter??

The natural assumption Sylvia was going to write struck her as odd. Of course she would write, but Maeve had no notion he had given gifts to her and the children as well, so the assumption was based on something else. It was that which caused the strange creeping up her spine. ?Certainly you may.?

Maeve noted the lady?s hesitation, and in her observation saw the charm. ?What a pretty charm. Is it a lamp??

?Yes,? Sylvia?s fingers went to it again, this time to lift it out a bit from her neck as she leaned forward to let Maeve have a better look.

Warm age swollen fingers touched the charm to lift it to the right angle, and she nodded slow with a gentle hum. ?Lamplights help us find our way and banish the darkness. It is a good charm to have.?

A delicate smile, the words echoing in her thoughts like the constant rhythm of waves that break upon the shore. Sylvia rose from her seat, ?I need to finish in the Market Square, but I wanted to be sure you received the gift.?

?Thank you, my lady. I will be certain to have my letter for Hudson to the manor by evening time.?

?I will be certain it is sent. Take good care, Maeve.?

She turned for the door and when she closed it behind her, she hesitated. One hand remained on the handle and she thought long on where her light was to guide her. It could not be Kieran anymore, and while the children brought her joy, she could not rely on them.

Turning for the Market Place, she knew just where she desired to stop and make a purchase before heading home and to writing her own letter.

The room was quiet with the soft silence of a late hour. Children asleep and the halls silent of steps. The writing desk called her to sit upon the upholstered cushion of its accompanying chair. The polished rosewood of the desk felt warm and soft beneath her fingers as she drew out paper, ink, and pen.

Hudson,

Mo daor caraid, it is hoped this letter finds you well and that your first days of upon the oceans in the L?ir Mothan have been bountiful. I can only imagine the feeling you must be enjoying to be upon the waters again. I wish you well in your trade and joy of your bonny craft.

Your kindness in the gifts you gave, though in debts paid that I have no keeping of its record, have been most gratefully received. Maeve speaks well of you, and her letter is to be found along with this if you have not already read it. Cian is most upset to learn that he may not see you again, for he and Aidan have often practiced walking quietly. It is something difficult for children to understand

She stopped the writing and looked over the words. He did not need to know that. With a sigh, she set that copy aside. The beginning she wrote again and then after speaking of Maeve?s letter began anew with..

The boys are enjoying their boats. I have promised them time in the gardens tomorrow to let them float, or in Cian?s case, race along the reflecting pool there. Weather here has set it free from ice. The gift could not have been more perfect. Nor could have Beata?s strange little bit of wood. She finds a curious delight in it.

Your gift of light rests upon my neck and gives me comfort. I cannot express my gratitude for the thoughtfulness, and I find myself beholden to you without a way to return your kindness. Though you sent these items to settle debts in places where no debt resided, I respect the tradition.

Be well and take good care, caraid. You will be thought of often.

Sylvia

The message bag arrived at its usual late afternoon hour. It coincided perfectly with afternoon naps and lessons. Sylvia found an hour of time to her own, making her way through various reports, missives, letters, and other correspondence. Most of these required no response, but the sighting of the stag head seal near the bottom of the pile had her eager for news. She stood from the writing desk of the family room and went to sit in her favorite chair. Arranging the length of the dark green gown, its cotton making draped easily even as she curled one leg beneath her.

In the letter?s reading, the emotions played across her face drifting from amusement to serious contemplation of the matters of business, but in the end faint longing to hear his stories crept up to tease at her determination and eat away her resolve. The edge of her mouth caught light between her teeth, she thought on the last words and wondered at their meaning. Her informant on Gaelic resided both on the shelves of her family room in the form of a more complete dictionary, and in the little book of translations gifted her was kept in the underskirt pocket to capture moments of memory or practice.

She drew it out and in a moment had the line translated. Resting her head back against the chair, her hand drifted up to touch the amulet at her neck. She, too, carried a light that he granted her. In the wee hours when the emptiness of her room, when her eyes opened into the darkness, she listened to his stories in her mind and felt gentle slumber claim her in a comforting embrace.

The letter read again, she stood from the chair and returned to the straight backed seat of the writing desk. Ink and parchment, careful in the choosing and in the writing, she began her reply letter.

Mo daor caraid,

Be wary of those sirens, my friend. The dashing of the rocks, though, does not keep to just the seas. The allure of the sirens can be found upon shore as well. In the stories told, never was the triumphant man of the sea too bold to not find the charms at least compelling. I have discovered the stories of Palendies to differ in that the ladies of the sea were beneficent beings, guiding souls from danger and warning of shallows and reefs. Perhaps you will have the fortune to meet upon one of these sea dwellers and avoid the traps of the others.

It saddens me to read that your nights lengthen out before you. Would that I could remedy the situation, and in the striving of that purpose, I send along this letter, which will be too long by half and well suited for a burning should it become tedious. At least, in that thought, I will have known you had some light from its flame.

Sylvia paused and wondered if her teasing humor was coming across in the words so stark in their directness upon the paper. It was a measure against this that she decided to become more sober in her writing lest she drive the friendly correspondence away by such written nonsense.

Days here rise and fall in their patterns. The spots of difference glow brighter because of this, though, and as you suspected the joining of Captain Caisson and Mistress Marshall, or more fondly known as Gaerwyn and Lenika, was one of those highlights. It was a simple but beautiful moment, and I was more than delighted to be able to share in it. Gaerwyn?s loss over the last year of his wife so tragically and Lenika?s own hurts could have weighed too heavy against them. But, as life so often shows us, it has the better nature of our happiness in its plans. Lenika, a lovely woman always, was a vision to see, and the look upon Gaerwyn?s face is one that revealed the depth of his joy and love. I know you share my wishes for their happiness, and shall pass them on as you request.

Within the daily events, Lucky-puppy, the boys named their dog after their uncle, has added a new spice to life. It was, with some chagrin, that I realized I can not be as reckless with where my slippers end up at night or they can become the newest toy for the young dog to chew. The guilt in those amber eyes when I scolded him near undid me, but the boys have given me great practice in being stern. Not that it rids me of the guilt. So, I have been trained to keep my shoes in a more secure space, and Lucky-puppy is learning to keep his teeth to the bones granted him by the kitchen. We all learn our new places in the world, I suspect, though some more quickly than others.

Cian finds every opportunity to remind me of how perfect Yearling Brook would be to sail his boat. The boy is worse than a badger once his mind has clamped on an idea. He is too clever for a child his age, and I blame his father. I think my hair turns grey swift upon his latest idea. He has, under some strange notion, decided that he could go through The Path by himself, and it would be, he reasons, good practice for Lucky-puppy as well, who had an adverse effect with the travel last time. The training of the dog has given rise to too many ideas in my little man?s head. It is good to know he is oblivious to how much he is watched, and yet I think I may have a trying time with years to come.

Aidan and Beata continue to do well, and Beata is eager to make her way in the world along with her brothers. She watches them walk, and while the ability is still beyond her, her mother?s stubborn strain calls her to try all the same. The latest bruise from a bump landed square in the center of her forehead. But her favorite hat, her tam, conceals it well enough. It is strange what is considered on an infant?s behalf. I doubt she cares much that she has a blue-yellow mark on her forehead, but I do.

Rhys is a good man, but I know little of his history. Captain Caisson would know more, though I do recollect some mention of a prior history from the Captain?s youth that included Rhys. On the count of Mount Yasuo, Ewan, and from my understanding Storm as well, will be making a trip to investigate it further. It sets my mind at ease to have as much information as possible, and whatever Ewan should learn would put me in good stead for any future questions the Crown may have for me. I trust to your dealings and that they will not cause any harm. It is a preparation out of past experience and nothing more. I hope you continue on as you have planned and that all goes well.

I have, at noting the length of this letter, consumed a great deal of your time. Perhaps the night has not lingered too long, nor have I abused a gentle spirit?s generous patience with my ramblings. I have not as yet received an invitation to your sister and Master Smith?s ceremony, but should such a kindness be sent my way, I will promise to do my utmost to attend. Keep the stories safe against the possibility of a return visit, for you know how eager I am to be your audience and to hear the speaking of them with only the care you give to the words.

Bhur carthannach caraid,

Sylvia