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Summary
Tighnari pens a response to Cyno’s letter. In exchange for the honeyed dates, he sends a gift of his own.
“Thank you,” Collei says quietly, folding the letter carefully, following the creases to avoid making new ones. She keeps them all stored away in a drawer
by her desk, in order by date, and she’s scared of losing them.
Tighnari can’t fault her for it. He has a folder for all of Cyno’s letters hidden away in his nightstand, buried underneath a stack of books. Just in case. For
safekeeping. Sometimes he wonders if Cyno keeps his letters, too.
Tighnari doesn’t have a favorite color.
He loves them all, every single hue and shade in the world, from the lush green of the Avidya Forest to the pale pink of the Zaytun Peaches gathered in his basket. Nature is beautiful and bountiful. It wouldn’t do to have favorites.
After battling against the Withering Zones for days, traversing the healthy parts of the forest feels like a sigh of relief. It helps remind him what he’s fighting for.
The Withering Zones are devoid of color. They’re nothing more than an expanse of dull browns and grays.
It’s nice to be back here in the heart of the forest, where everything is healthy and the fruits grow ripe.
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