Where the Letter Waited Gently in My Lap

Where the Wind Speaks Soft
From the recollections of Iselde Valmore

I was never meant to see the world-only to feel it, secondhand, through the footsteps of a brother who would not let the sky pass unadmired.

These are the letters he sent me-part maps, part songs, part foolish tales of dripping caves and haunted inns and women who could outshoot the stars. In them, he is knight and dreamer both, always chasing the next bend in the road with a hopeful heart and muddy boots.

If you listen closely, you'll hear the wind he followed. It speaks soft, yes-but never falsely.

-Iselde Valmore,
Daughter of a quiet house, keeper of a thousand stories