Sent June 17 1008
Paige,
I hope I got the address right. Hoofington University General Dorm. Hope this gets to you.
I wish I’d been wrong. The newspapers are saying the Changelings swarmed Sakara yesterday. Everydeer in the defense is dead and the King finally gave up Hjortland. While I might say it was a lost cause since the beginning, it still makes me nervous as Tartarus. The Changelings occupy the second largest land area on Equus now. I know you haven’t met any Changelings yet yourself, but let me tell you most of them are single-minded sociopaths, with a bit of love for violence. I know the Empire had a Changeling mission here, but that doesn’t make us allies. Most griffs I know are pretty offput by them, but a lot of them like them enough that they stayed as long as they did. I know you’re pretty occupied between the move, the war and finals, but I just want you to stay aware of how dangerous they are, especially now with Olenia’s resources in their mandibles.
Okay, less politics. I’m just worried about you. Given our last conversation, I can only hope that things are getting better for you. The newspapers finally decided to treat the Crystal War as a major event, though its still being largely described as ‘Equestria walking into its own backyard’. So now you know the general Griffonian attitude over here.
Fewer politics. Life’s mostly gone back to normal in the Herzland. No more riots, no more chaos. All good for me, means I have to get put on riot duty less. We’ve gone back to training. The worst came down after all. Ludmilla the 2nd is gone, replaced by something called a LP-2 ‘Calico’ panzer (don’t ask me about the name, apparently the Gryphus South Continent Company invested some idols in the development with the Changelings). It's completely different from her predecessor. Different layout. Her engine is more powerful, and her armor is thicker. Totally different from Ludmilla, not that that’s always a good thing. The whole 41st is getting our LI’s replaced by these new systems, with promises for more equipment in the future.
We decided on a name. ‘Zola’ is what we’ll call her. Sergeant Hellseig himself painted it on the 4 cm’s barrel. Bluetalon keeps going on about how easy she is to drive, while Grimquill does nothing but bitch up and down the wall like back on Ludmilla. At the end of the day, this is still a good panzer. We’re lucky to have her.
Training continues, though now we think its war preparation. More infantry units keep coming into the Crona Training Fields. The 41st has been put into the 8th Korps, under Uncle August. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a coincidence. Something big is going down in the Empire, but I couldn’t tell you what it is.
I saw Mother and Sophie the other day. She’s happy we’re mostly just shuffling around, like any mother would be. Sophie asked about my job, and I told her it's mostly just sitting around right now. She doesn’t know about the riot in (the location is clipped out). Mother didn’t tell her. And I’m not going to either. Industrie feels like it's changing. Apparently a new group called the Industrierat is making reforms to the district. Worker safety is increasing, minimum wage is going up, paved roads are being installed everywhere and modern machines are being enforced on the factories. While I’m happy that the neighborhood is changing for the better, I’m mostly happy for my mother. I’ve always been worried she had the more dangerous occupation of the two of us. Now she’s safer and the district is improving (apparently the local police had it out with a few streetgangs in some brutal crackdowns) I can worry a little less.
All in all, things are going back to the way they were. And honestly, I’m happy for that. Means there’s hope, right?
Let me know I got the address right. I get the feeling I’d go insane if I couldn’t talk to you anymore.
Sincerely,
-Cyril
Sent July 5th, 1008
Dear Cyril,
I’m fine. You got the address correct, though I wouldn’t advise you keep it. I got your letter during finals week, so I’m done here in Hoofington. Until they decide to let students back into Luna Nova, my scholarships is kind of up in the air. Though, I can likely leave a forwarding address.
This week, there was a tragedy. An ammunition ship in New Mareland detonate in a huge accident. Commonwealth troops are supposed to be landing in Manehattan to join the fight, and apparently the wartime preparations triggered some real issues overseas. It’s all been frontpage news. It's finally given me the push I needed. My first year is over. Finals are up. And ponies are dying. So, despite what you told me and my parents’ wishes, I finally made up my mind.
I enlisted in the Royal Air Force yesterday. I’m not in yet, I have to go for a physical check and then training after that. I’ve thought long and hard about this, Cyril. You should know this better than anypony or griff. You enlisted to escape your home, but I can’t sit by with nothing to do here and watch others go fight (the next words are scratched out) and die for my safety.
My recruiter said I’ll be in the bomber forces. Apparently they’re being rapidly expanded, and they need crewponies for the aircraft. Sombra’s air force is apparently small, so that’s the safest place I can think of to be. New Wellington modern bomber craft are replacing old Wheatleys, so they need more crew for bigger planes.
This isn’t something I can just ignore. I’ve been directly impacted by this. Sombra’s a menace to the whole continent. He needs to be stopped. By the time you read this, I'll likely be off to training. They’re apparently moving replacements to the front as quick as they can. Gloaming coming with. She enlisted the same time I did, though she signed up for the Army Pegasi Corps. They’re giving her grief about being a thestral, so the Air Force wouldn’t take her. I wish BAT was still around, but anti-thestral sentiment is even worse here in the south. Hoofington’s got a bad taste for thestrals, likely from proximity. Not even Princess Luna's reforms are changing that very quickly.
I already sent messages to my parents. They’ll likely disapprove. Too bad it takes six to eight weeks to get mail to the River Republic from southern Equestria.
I haven’t given up on academics, don’t worry. Sometimes, things just take priority.
“Left to its own circumstances, the world will stagnate and decay, never changing or moving forward. It is only by introducing strife and challenge that life, society and knowledge evolve.” -Conrad Dawkclaw
Save a beer for me?
Yours,
-Paige
Sent July 27th, 1008
Paige,
I don’t know what you were thinking. I never said I would stand in the way of you enlisting, I just wanted to make sure you weren't jumping (the word ‘claws’ is scratched out here) hooves first into something you weren’t ready for.
While I can’t say I approve of the air service (pilots are mostly nobles in the Kaiserliche Luftstreitkräfte, so to Tartarus with those assholes) I am of course proud of you enlisting. Though separated by an ocean, race and nations, we both set to something greater than ourselves. And you volunteered to actually go fight. I just did it for the paycheck.
I don’t know much about pony military doctrine, or Royal Air Force training. But if it's anything like Imperial Guard training, it’ll be intense. There will be times where you want to give up and walk away from this stupid endeavor. But you have to stick it out. When I enlisted, my Uncle August said something to me, and while the words have faded a little over the years (I I know, it wasn’t that long ago to begin with) I still remember the intent behind it. Seeing as how you’re about to go to war, I feel I should share them with you.
“You are about to embark on one of the greatest journeys of your life. In our short time, there is little greater one can do aside from volunteer to serve something bigger than themselves. You will be tested, you will be scarred and you will be forced to question everything you know. You may suffer. You may die. But by the end, you will stand head and shoulders above those around you, knowing what you now know, having seen what you’ve seen. You have put yourself on the line, and come what may you have become one of the few to have started down the road of heroes. Stand tall, stand strong, stand faithful and you will come out the other side.”
Again, I may not be remembering his words exactly, but I’m confident I got close enough to his intent. I hope I either catch you before you leave Hoofington or early enough in your training to have this message make a difference. You’ve become my best friend simply through our letters, and I want to be there for you, no matter the difference. And to me, that means every day counts.
You may not be the only one going to war soon. From what I hear filtering down, apparently the remaining Regency Council is full of hot debate. After the Holy League broke away, they started expanding their military efforts by a massive amount. There’s rumors that the Regent Duchess Eagleclaw is pressing for a reintegration of all loyal territories. This would mean, of course, that the nobles remaining would lose direct control over their lands, their private armies and a large portion of their incomes. From what I hear, the biggest opponent is Grand Duke Gerlach, who states (and I’m just relaying rumor here) that he doesn’t want all his hard work and reforms to go out the window with Griffenheim’s rule. So, on top of facing a war to reclaim our wayward southern neighbors, we may be facing war with our ‘loyal’ provinces.
I love the Empire, I do. But some days, it honestly feels like we’re too busy fighting each other than the ones that truly threaten us.
I finished the book. Both of them. Surprise! I wanted to let you know a few letters ago, but I decided to double down. Practice, memorization and a little bit of guesswork. I love these books. They’re my prize possessions now, and I’m looking into finding a book store when I next get a weekend pass. I want to get the other novels in the Daring Do series, and if I take what idols I have left after helping my mother and putting into savings from this month, I might have enough to get one or two. I make two idols a day, and I’ve gotten better with math since I joined the Panzerkorps.
Keep writing, if they let you. If I can’t talk to you, I’m going to miss you something fierce, and its way too easy for our letters to get delayed already.
Sincerely,
-Cyril
Sent August 25th, 1008
Dear Cyril,
Unfortunately, you didn’t catch me in time. Lucky you, that forwarding address I left worked just fine. I’ve been shipped off to the Cloudsdale Flight School. Apparently even if you’re a pegasus and even if you’re in a bomber some constant still apply. The registration process took less time than I thought, they did a one day health check and a one week background investigation. I was off to training July 20th, so if it makes you feel better I was gone even before you had a chance to send the letter.
Its free time in the barracks right now. I’m not going through pilot training myself, being just a low-end crewpony. The real pilots are all officers who go through months of flight school, though apparently the course differs for earth ponies and unicorns. Right now, it's mostly memorization of terms and physical exercise. The training sergeants are fierce, constantly on the lookout for weakness in ‘the crop’. They keep stating that if we’re not up for the job, Sombra’s umbrals will swallow us up. I learned the hard way its best not to ask questions or point out faults in logic.
I wasn’t very physically active before I enlisted. I know now that was a mistake. Flying sprints, no-wing dashes, weight training. Its intense, and I’m hurting in places I didn’t even know I had. I keep getting told this is light compared to what infantryponies get, and it honestly makes me glad I didn’t join the army (no offense intended).
I’m tired. Different day. Free time is short, I don’t have the endless hours I used to. Hard to go on sometimes. Lectures most of the day on the functions of the bomber, general maintenance, emergency procedures. They say it's (eight is scratched out) six more weeks of this. Meaning by the time you get a reply to me, I’m likely to be gone. So I set up a PO box in Cloudsdale, where all my mail goes these days, address included here. I’ll start sending forwarding addresses to it.
I wanted to say thank you for the inspiring words. And tell your Uncle August he makes very good speeches. Almost like its out of a history book of, oh say, famous Imperial generals. (wink wink). Secret’s safe with me. Though I am worried about a possible Imperial civil war too. Given the balance of power over there, you have enough to worry about without fighting each other. Wingbardy’s militarization going unchecked means they could conquer the whole south before the Empire responds, not to say what the Republic and Aquileia will do (before you say anything, don’t forget that I'm not a fan of ‘democracy by force’).
My parents are, of course, worried. They’re over the shock now. They just want me to stay safe, keep my head down, not take any risks. Can’t say I blame them. With what they keep telling us here, I sometimes wonder if I made a mistake. I could really die with this.
We did bombsight lectures today. And machine gun range training. It's a lot harder than it looks, to be honest. I suppose I’m lucky it's mounted, and I don’t really have to carry it. We all did horrible, of course. More pushups, more sprints. The way they talk to us, it sounds like nopony in the squadron can do anything right. I’m trying my best, Cyril. But it's just as weary as it sounds.
They give us news from the war. Apparently, Equestrian forces are within sight of the Crystal City. But losses are high. According to news, over a hundred thousand dead, wounded or captured. Commonwealth and Crystal Loyalist units are on the ground with us. The enemy is relentless. Apparently there’s no way to discern between Sombra’s followers and their mind-controlled Legionnaires. The Crystal air corps knows they’re outnumbered, so they tripled down on flak and shadow spells. We’re being told more air crew casualties are being inflicted by magic than actual fighter craft. That doesn’t make me feel much better about it.
From what I hear, this war could be over before I even go on my first combat mission. But then again, isn’t that what they all say? I get the feeling it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
My recommendation for the next one is Daring Do and the Eternal Flower. I know it sounds a little...well, flowery. But if you liked the other two, you’re going to love this one. Any recommendations for me? I might only get a few days’ leave before I ship out.
And thank you, Cyril. For everything.
Yours,
-Paige
Sent September 16th, 1008
Dear Paige,
Sounds like my timing was off. If it's only six weeks left, and it takes four weeks on average for a message to cross the sea, then I won’t get another chance to talk to you in training. And for that I’m sorry. We’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. The separation is amazingly horrible.
I don’t know much about aerial combat. I see Imperial planes flying overhead all the time, more and more and more of them. Fighters, bombers, CAS craft, transport planes. They fly farther and faster than any griffon strapped for combat. They fire bullets and drop bombs or griffons.
That’s the extent of my knowledge on air combat.
Listen, something occurred to me. Since it takes so much longer for letters to get from Equestria to the River Republic, I was wondering if maybe we could exchange our parent’s addresses. I can send letters to your folks for updates, and I’m fairly certain you’d want to prove yourself to my mother, change her mind in a way that I can’t. This is an idea that’s been bouncing around in my head for a while, but now you’re in the service it means you’ll be facing even worse mail delays, so I figured them having someone on this continent to let them know you’re okay would help out.
Plus, Sophie’s started asking questions about you. She’ll be thrilled to have a penpal.
You officially know more about the Crystal War than I do. Newspapers are still going on about it being trivial affairs an entire world away, though given what’s happened here at home I don’t suppose I can blame anygriff for thinking that.
Uncle August wrote me again. He can’t exactly call me into his command post to speak. That could be seen as favoritism. But he said he’s proud of what I’m doing, and I told him some more about you. He’s impressed that you enlisted, though as a proud Reichsarmee griff he is, like me, disappointed you chose the easy branch. But word from him is to give it your best, and give them a few pieces for him.
I got the book you recommended. Turns out it has a Herzlandisch version after all. But I got it in Equestrian. I knew you’d be disappointed if I took the easy way out, and this way nogriff else will want to steal it. Grimquill keeps calling me a sucker for taking the time to learn the language, but Hellseig approves, I can tell.
Word came down from the kaptein. The 41st is going through new tactics and maneuvers. Again. Apparently, we’re expected to be getting new vehicles again, and they’re testing ideas for something called a ‘medium’ panzer. It's supposed to move like Zola but hit almost as hard as a Beak tank. But they’re still in development, so I’m expecting it’ll be a while before we even use them. Which makes what we’re doing here feel kind of pointless, but I haven’t gotten answers from my kommandants before. I don’t expect any now.
I’ve been thinking about applying for mail order classes from Griffenheim University. I never gave any serious thought to going, always thought I was too dumb. But after our conversations and what I’ve learned from you and my time in service, maybe I have a shot. I was thinking perhaps something in mechanical engineering. Industrial expansion is booming over here, might be a good way to look into the future. Thank you for giving me the confidence I needed to even think about trying. Although, given everything, I may have to wait until next year before I apply.
Something new from me this time. There’s a book in the package for you called ‘Der Schwarzwald’. This one I know only comes in Herzlandisch. It's a thriller novel I read a few years ago, a bit more contemporary. It's about some hikers lost up north who stumble upon a dark secret in the frozen woods. The author apparently spent some time with the Arcturian Order, and her experiences up on the Dread Peninsula inspired her writing. I hope you enjoy it.
Sincerely,
-Cyril
Sent September 28th, 1008
Dear Paige,
I know you probably haven’t gotten my last letter yet, but by my reckoning you should be graduating from training any day now. I know this will probably not arrive until afterwards, but on this day especially I still felt the need to write another letter.
Congratulations. Welcome to the service. We may be separated by national flag and, Boreas’ sake, branch of service. But the fact is, you’ve put your best foot forward and taken the step to being a soldier like me. You didn’t have to, and a lot of people tried to talk you out of it. You’re one of a kind amongst crowds, and given everything else you can do and what you’ve been through, it just makes you unique.
Paige, you’re amazing. The things you can do and what you’re capable of just by wishing it outstrips anything I’ve ever seen in anyone else. You’ve conquered the schoolroom, travelled the world, fought to correct what you saw was a critical wrong, and now stepped forward to go to war. You, Paige, are truly one of a kind.
Now go give ‘em hell.
Sincerely,
-Cyril
Sent October 13th, 1008
Dear Cyril,
I finally got your letters, and managed to get a reply of my own back. Thank you for the novel, the message of encouragement, the word from your uncle, everything. Gods, you’re incredible.
I did graduate from bomber training. You’re currently writing Aircrewmare Turner, Royal Air Force, 16th Bomber Squadron. They’ve stationed me up north, as part of a Halifax crew. A bit different from what they got me ready for. I’m stationed at an airbase that I can’t talk about, classified and all that. But you’re used to that too, aren’t you? Then again, they army boys can’t really understand much unless its in picture form.
I’m really no good at the whole interservice trash-talk thing, am I?
I haven’t flown any combat missions yet. They’re massing aircraft to get ready for the next offensive. Our troops are pressing the Crystal City, hard. But Sombra’s throwing up everything he can to keep us out. It’s getting ugly on the ground. We could be sent in anyday now to support.
Life in the service isn’t what I imagined. After I got off the plane, they shuffled us away into these dingy barracks that looked like they hadn’t been used in twenty years, and we’ve sort of just been sitting around ever since. I’ve met the rest of my aircrew, a bit of an odd bunch. We’ve been poking around the plane since we got here, doing maintenance and learning what we can. But this is a new crew, fresh out of training, on a new aircraft, literally just out of the factory. I’ve got a bad feeling about all of that.
There’s not much more I can talk about. I love the book so far, and I’m so delighted to hear you talk about trying to apply for school. You have a lot of potential, Cyril. You just need to figure out how to use it, and your experience on machinery would be invaluable in the industrial market. Things are changing, a lot. It's the right time to learn a new trade.
Speaking of learning, I got back the results of my finals at last. Mostly B’s and a C, but I’ve been so busy with training and distracted by the state of the world I honestly just forgot about it for a time. Well, more accurately, I kind of stopped caring. But now, we’re set to launch at any time. And now all the things I’ve done over my life have come back to me and made me question what I’ve done. I know we said we’d wait until things calmed down before we started talking about the nature of our possible relationship, but given the fact that either of us could die at any time lately, maybe we should at least start?
I’ve inserted my parents’ address on a separate slip. They’ve lived at that address the past twenty years, its not changing anytime soon. I’m already drafting a letter to your mother as we speak with the address of your home. It's a little more difficult than trying to talk to you, because I know you’re less likely to judge me so harshly. Don’t feel you’re under the same pressure when talking to my family, they’re not so traditional. I am having more trouble writing your sister. I’m not sure what to tell her and what to leave out. So I’m doing my best to talk to her like anypony else. No special treatment, no politics. I really want to make a good impression on them both.
Now that I’m here at a base, I understand what you meant about the boredom. We’re waiting for word to take off at any time now, but meanwhile we have nothing else to do but the routine, day after day. How have you survived years of this so far?
Eagerly waiting,
-Paige
Sent November 1st, 1008
Dear Paige,
First, congratulations for you. I always knew you’d make it, and I’m immensely proud of you. Don’t worry about the trash talk. It’ll come naturally as you come to hate/love the groundpounders.
Your father hasn’t sent a message, but your mother is pleasant enough. She was a little confused about the nature of our talks, so I told her we were penpals the last year or so. She’s worried about you, but I told her you’re alright and that we’d been in touch. If you’re writing my mother, do me a favor and don’t call -her- close minded or talk to her about thestral rights. She’s not going to be too loving of that. Don’t worry about Sophie. She’s a smart girl, she knows how the world works even if she doesn’t let on. I think it's better that she does that.
The boredom does get to you. We get by over here with cardgames, worship study (wouldn’t recommend it, you get the diehards in there yelling over everygriff else) and, when we’ve been way too long without something to do, practical jokes. Bluetalon filled my cap with whipped cream the other day right before formation, so I got him back by forging a letter saying he won a contest and got a thousand bits. Should have seen him, he was gushing about leaving us ‘suckers’ behind and moving on. So in the middle of writing a letter trying to resign, he gets a letter from his banker at home saying he had a grand total of thirty bits. Now he’s trying to figure out who got him so good. But I’ll never tell.
Paige, about that other topic. Are you sure you want to open that can of worms again? I know what you’re saying, but we’re treading into some dangerous territory there. Now we’re both in, the odds of us getting leave the exact same time are even slimmer. I like you, I do. I really like you. But I don’t want us laying out plans we’re never going to get to or, even worse, coming to hate each other over not being able to fulfill. I just want to make sure you know what we’re getting into.
Sincerely,
Cyril
Sent December 1st, 1008
Dear Cyril,
We went on our first bombing mission. They scrambled us and said it was time, we were hitting the Crystal City. I was bombardier. We got set up for a night raid, so to obscure ground batteries. The whole time we were getting ready I was shaking like a leaf in a storm. I thought ‘this is it. We’re going up.’ Once we got off the tarmac, it was cold. Like stupid cold. We went up higher than any other flight I’ve ever been on. Higher than I’ve ever flown with just my wings. We flew up so high, we needed oxygen masks. It was dark inside. Felt darker than even outside. I sat in the bombsight, so I could see the ground. Well, towards it. Because most of what I saw was darkness and snow.
There were forty of us, flying in one direction in formation with Blenheim escorts. You could look out the windows and see the lights one either side, stretched out. The only color in an otherwise pitch black sky.
We flew like this for a few hours. I lost track of time and I think I even fell asleep. Nopony talked much. We just huddled tight in our leather jackets and tried not to think about what waited for us. The next thing I know, there’s light everywhere. Flashes and bangs and stars exploding around us. I look through the bombsight and see lights all over the ground. We reached the front and I didn’t even realize it. As we fly through the flak, I remember my heart pounding out of my chest so hard, I felt like my ribs were going to crack. Everytime a shell burst nearby, I swore my teeth rattled.
I saw a plane die. She got hit by a shell in her number 2 engine, and when she slewed off with her wing on fire it broke off. She spun in below the clouds and that was it. Another one was struck by a spell I recognized even in blackness; a bolt of death. It blew out her cockpit. The crew never had a chance.
We were over the target when I was given the greenlight. That meant I had eight seconds to spot and aim at the target. I want to say I hit it, I do. But in the darkness, with flak and spells bursting all around, I think the best I can say is that I hit the city, at least. Thirteen thousand pounds of ordnance, and I have no idea where it went. But I dropped it. The bomber lifted up. And we started back.
That’s when the Gladiators attacked. Biplanes they might have been, but even biplanes are enough to catch up to heavy bombers. Whoever said the Crystal air corps was starved out was out of his gourd, because they smoked two of us before we even saw them. The Blenheims peeled off to deal with them, and I could hear the turret gunners hammering away. All I could do was sit there and hope we weren’t next.
When we set down, I went to my bunk and passed out on the way down. I was so exhausted just from the sheer terror I felt of going in. We were honestly only in the fight for about twenty minutes. The rest of it was just getting there. But when I saw what happened to our bomber, I felt sick all over again. There was a hole, not two hooves over from my bombsight, punched straight through. Turns out, we lost nine bombers last night. And I don’t even know if I did any good.
(There is a fold, a few scratched out words and a smudge of something.)
I’m okay now. We went out to the bar near base and got drunk. They’re telling us the raid was a success, but I can’t think how. We were supposed to be targeting factories, and those are pretty big. So if the army’s telling us we got it, I’ll take the satisfaction. But I don’t know that it was worth sixty-three ponies.
I got word back from your mother. She doesn’t like me, but she was polite about it. Thinks I’m this Riverlands hussy who’s trying to seduce her son into debauchery and perversion. Oh, she didn’t say it like that, but her words made it abundantly clear. Sophie’s a delight though. Very articulate for a chick. She has good penmanship.
My father will come around. He’s a little wary of this whole affair is all.
Yes. I really want to start talking about us again. Last night made me realize that in the end all we’ve got is what we do now. Your future and mine may be extremely short. We may not be face to face, but we’ll know we’ve got each other. So, how about it? Ready to leap into this whole long-distance romance thing with both eyes closed and no idea what underneath?
Yours,
-Paige
Sent December 20th, 1008
Dear Paige,
When I got your letter, I took the next night to go to the nearest tavern, ordered some schnapps and gave you and your comrades a toast. What you described sounds harrowing to the extreme, and I never imagined air combat to be so intense. I’m tracking (the Crystal War is scratched out by two solid lines) your war as best I can from over here. Nothing about your raid, but fighting has moved inside the Crystal City’s outskirts. The western front has Sombra’s reinforcements cut off by Loyalist forces. Commonwealth tanks were the first to breach the outer walls. We might just be seeing the beginning of the end here. Fingers crossed.
My mother is a bit abrasive at times. She’s a single mother living in a crime-infested, poverty stricken neighborhood while her son is off in the army all the time. She doesn’t warm up to things quickly at all. As for Sophie, I’m very proud of her. She’s going to go off and do great things when she grows up.
Okay. Then just so you know before we get into this thing, I’ve wanted to take you out for months. I know we talked about it a bit, but I mean I really wanted to. Not just as a ‘oh we’ll go have dinner’. You mean a lot to me, Paige. I’m just trying not to ruin that.
The winter over here feels a bit somber. Politics being what they are, the year being what its been and now I’m reading about you fighting a war half the world away. It’ll almost be two years since we saw each other, you know that? Come March. And I’m having trouble dealing with that. I wish I could see you again. Throw my arms around you. And I’d find a way to make sure you were never more than four hours away from me at all times. That may seem a bit possessive, but I figure ‘fuck it. We’ve spent enough time apart.’
In the envelope, you’ll find my Medal of Arcturius, from temple. You need it more than I do right now. Keep it close. And I’ll always be right beside you. In the meantime, I’ll keep thinking about that day we finally see each other again. I know ponies kiss, but it's a little different for griffons. No lips, you see. So instead, imagine me gently rubbing my face against yours, cheek to cheek. The winter might be cold, and you might feel alone up there in that bomber of yours, but so long as you keep me with you, I’ll always be there.
We don’t have a Hearth’s Warming Day like you do. But what we do have is Mondstille, where we gather friends and family and other loved ones close, spend time together, drink, make merry and sing songs together as we bring in the new year. Sometimes we’ll exchange gifts, but I think griffons are a mite too selfish and greedy to make that a tradition.
So this New Years’, look up in the sky and just imagine me looking at the same thing.
If I seem a little emotional and overly sappy, it could largely be that every time I’ve sat down to write, I’ve taken a few shots of liquid courage.
I miss you.
Yours,
-Cyril