((The following is part 1 of the Valentines RP held by Three Graces, so proceed with caution - Xan's Humble Chronicler))

The huntsman wasn't quite sure how or why he got where he was now. He rode slowly through the Old Forest, struggling through his slough of dark thoughts, bow and nocked arrow in hand and ready.

Ma always wanted me to pretend that I didn't know how to read or write. She didn't want other locals thinking we were some snobbish upper-class family. But Mama wants a lot of things, I long for the day where she asks me what I want. Not that it's her job to provide for me anymore. I'm a woman of my own now. Hell, this journal is turning into a rambling session. Why did it start off with my Ma? I was really thinking about Darien first! He left for an entire week without telling me!

Within the House of Three Graces, Finchley’s keen sense of smell – at least when food was involved! – picked up on the sweet, savory scent of baked apples. She, of course, followed her nose all the way into what had been dubbed the ‘dining room’ to find Addiela, who clearly had been hard at work baking. She placed down a fresh tray of apple tarts just as Finchley entered the room – the fourth batch she had made that day.

(Being the continuation of a letter from Applecider Bolingbroke to Lancogard North-Took, on the subjects of Elf Toast, and slowly-forming antics …)

Essebrin Lockhart a young woman, a watcher, a Bree-lander. In her own eyes, she was average, one other person in a sea of faces. To other people, she was a diamond in the rough. They say that the only opinion that should matter is your own. And right now she was questioning her own ability to protect the people she cared for. Mortermon was among those people and now he was dead. There are things in the world that you cannot even begin to predict. More and more Essie was beginning to see what life was like wearing the uniform.