There are days out here when I wish I’d never left home, and just settled down to be an accountant or whatever damn things Father wanted me to be. I’ve been doing a lot of living off the land and (trying to eat) trail rations. Adventuring life’s tough, and not just in the food department. But if the food were better, the rest would be easier to take. Sometimes I feel like if I had a few bites of your homemade balaclava, I could walk a thousand leagues without stopping.
It’s not to be, I know. But I guess it tells you how much I miss home these days. I’ve seen some really weird things that cultists were doing, don’t worry, they didn’t stab me very much. And I got some folk to look out for me, even if I haven’t seen old Rhoin the Fuzzy in a couple weeks. He was trying to figure out what was wrong with this creepy forest (yes it really was creepy, not just me not liking forests) and needed some druidic help, but then on a mission to retrieve an axe actually forged by Hephaestos himself he accidentally killed a fairy. And so they put a mark on him saying he was bad. So he went back to the forest to try and make things better, but he hasn’t caught up with us yet.
Anyway, just lots of traveling, and occasionally a town (hence the letter since rolling grasslands don’t have post offices ha ha) and we’re on our way to Crete. Yes we have papers, no I’m not going to steal anything, and yes I know better than to make advances on anyone who worships Artemis. I figured that one out last time.
Give my love to the rest of the family, and if you happen to misplace some homemade goodies, and they wind up in my hands, I could die a happy man (not that I’m going to die, no ha ha).