Two months have passed since I last saw Lyra.
I am standing behind the counter, wrapping lemon drops in plastic, pretending not to be hearing the sound of my sighs.
The bell above the door rings. I look up to see the mailpony with today's parcels. He delivers three boxes, but then there's a letter.
As he leaves the store, I glance curiously at the envelope. I open it up and look at the sheet. The parchment has a smell to it, like an ocean breeze from far away. I recognize the penmanship in an instant.
And then there is something else, something like tears.
Special Thanks to Ponky.
Arrivederci, friend.