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[Merci d'Rue]

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A white wolf bearing a scroll sealed with the mark of the Family d'Rue awaits Kaylors arrival upon his doorstep.

Lord Kaylor,

Betrothed of my dearest Fiona, let me begin this letter with my congratulations, regarding your new engagement. It pleases me that soon, I shall call you cousin, friend, and family.

Yet I digress for what is most important. Your request. *there is a pause meticulously planned here as if she wanted the weight of it to be felt by him, perhaps even a sharp coldness within it.*

It is time then. I acquiesce. Let us hope that you sir are ready for that which, mine eyes have glimpsed..yes..I know much.

Let us meet on Friday and see to this task of importance. Do you wish to have Fiona with you? To know the man she marries... Let us hope you and he are one and the same. Shall I have the king there once more?

Respond with a time, if friday is good, and answered questions....*another pause this one softer than the first* Please..

*scriptively written with a flourish*

Merci Jeanine Anastasia d'Rue
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May destiny guide you...

[Kaylor]

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Kaylor sat down at his desk. Wearily dragging a hand through his thick tangled mane, he closed his eyes against the tension lingering in his sinews. Sunrise whispered at the edge of night's horizon, a night which had taken a tragic turn as the team of horses leading the coach that he'd stopped on the road south of Minoc had suddenly bolted. It was of little consequence that he'd nearly been trampled, however the driver was thrown from his seat and a small child from the window. Both were dead . . . and he was to blame. Thanks be to the Saints that he'd been masked and cloaked, well concealed by shadows, but the Heavenly Father had certainly been witness to it all. While it was true that he donated everything taken during these midnight ventures, he'd vowed never to kill no matter the circumstance, sworn to forfeit his own life before taking that of another, and even though what happened had been purely accidental . . . . .

A deeply pained sigh escaping him slowly, he took the Oracle's parchment back into hand and perused it once again, her words as piercingly gelid now as they had been when first he'd read them earlier this evening. Reaching for his quill he scribed a reply.

Merci Jeanine Anastasia d'Rue,

I would much prefer this done without an audience, however if it please you to the contrary then so be it. Myrddin and Fiona may be present by your invitation only, Milady Oracle.

Friday suits me well, at the hour of nine. Should this be unacceptable you have only to send word and I shall be happy to accomodate an alternative hour.

As to whether or not I shall stand in the shadow of my past without equal silhouette, who can know these things until their essence is held in one's hand?

Ever your servant,

K

Folding and setting his seal to the missive, Kaylor summoned his messenger to see it delivered. He then crossed himself and wept.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*