Outrunner Elandriah Cindersong

A Letter in the Post

Elandriah’s throat felt as if it nested a vermin; surely a rat had found its way into her throat and dug its nails into her esophagus. That would have been easier for her to accept, rather than the conversation she’d just had at the Lodge. Her hand found the edge of her Farstrider tabard, pulling at a loose string as she walked. The voice echoed in her ears. Elandriah, I loved you. 

Her footsteps sunk into the cobblestone as she walked the block back to her apartment, clinging to the laundry. Gloriana was the woman’s name, she’d kindly introduced herself and excused herself just the same. It took all of three seconds to put together the connection between the two. She hadn’t even thought to properly excuse herself before making her way into the Lodge to gather her things.

This was the second time she’d let her heart fall for a Farstrider, only to be cruelly reminded of her place. She was an Outrunner, and there would always be a shred of distance that was built between Farstriders and herself. They traveled as packs, groups on a hunt- on a collective mission. Of course, they fell for other Farstriders. Outrunners ran alone, in the dark- hiding their true natures and disappearing for weeks at a time. It was a bitter reminder of her place in the world, and the complete lack of friendship she’d truly had.

The woman reached her apartment, staring at the door as if she’d expected it to open. A series of moments passed before her hand numbly moved to her pocket to retrieve her keys. “Khid.” The metal met the door, scratching into place as it unlocked. A letter needed to go out, something easy- quick. He couldn’t read into it too much, but she’d want to see him sooner than not.

Paper was acquired, smoothed out as an inkwell was popped open. The quill met the paper, sweeping across the page in pristine calligraphy as she wrote:

Kid, 

It’s been some time since we spoke. I’ve moved back to the city. Stop by for tea when you can?

Miss you,
-E

It would be sent out in the morning post, one could only hope the courier found him before she found the bottom of the bottle across from her.