As always, when morning came, the windows were opened. First in the bedroom, then in the hallway, then in the living room and kitchen. Piper always knew when the windows were being opened, and always tried to help when it was time. This was a part of the specific morning routine of Lyrelark- make the house feel as open as possible.
This time, however, it was raining. The showers were soft, and werenât causing too much noise. Piper was calm enough, but it meant one window had to be left closed.
Which Lyrelarkâs face showed he clearly did not like.
Dear Piper,
Many years of my life were spent outside. If I was inside, it was a tavern or a tent. When I served in the Hordeâs military, my tent-mates tended to smoke a lot, which I was not a fan of- but they kept the tent flaps open, which made it even out.
I donât like small spaces, and I donât like closed spaces. I donât enjoy being confined someplace and need space and air to breathe.
Your mother is a saint, and she deals with my problems on a daily basis. She lets me keep the windows open even during the cold of winter, and will often be the one to ask about opening a window if weâre at an indoor restaurant or visiting somebody. She knows that Iâm not much of a pusher.
In addition to my claustrophobia, your mom also helps me with my timidness. Iâm sociable, can be loud, and Iâm not afraid of people- but I donât ask for things. I donât ask for help. I would always rather sit someplace, uncomfortable and struggling to function, before I asked for a window to open. Which was what led me to choose the tent during my service that I chose.
We all have quirks, Piper, that make us who we are. My claustrophobia and timidness are quirks that I can tell arenât your motherâs favorite parts of me, but she still works with me on them. Which is one of the many reasons sheâs a saint.
You may meet someone, friend or maybe even more, that has their illusion of perfection shattered when you find their quirk. Maybe they have to touch every piece of fruit before they pick one out, or they refuse to sit on the inside part of a table. We all have quirks, and when we learn to make those a part of our interaction with each other, it can help us to love each other that much better.
By the way, your mother rubs my leg with her foot all the time. Everywhere we go. The real one only, though. Even in restaurants sheâll take a shoe off and just rub my leg. I donât get it, but it doesnât bother me. Itâs better than the leg-shaking accidental kicks your Aunt Cress tends to do.
Lyrelark returned home from a busy day of errands. His homecoming routine went into motion: it began with setting the diaper bag down, followed by the baby- sometimes in the playpen, the high chair, on the table, or simply handing her down to his helpful bird Ika. After that, heâd give Piper her applesauce and baby spoon and set about emptying his pockets. Loose gold first, gold pouch next, keys following, any wrappers after, and pacifier(s) last. It was usually done this way, with little or no variation in between.
It gave him an idea, though, for a letter. It had certainly been a while, and that was something he wanted to get back to doing. So, he sat down at the table by the messily-eating child and started writing.
Dear Piper,
From the last letter to now, there will most certainly be a gap in time. A lot has happened that youâll surely know about by the time you read this. Iâd rather not go into detail⌠simply because, at this point, Iâm still healing.
I do want to ask though. Are you a bag girl?
⌠thatâs a terrible way to word that. Absolutely awful. Iâm laughing right now.
What I mean to ask is, do you carry a purse? A backpack? A burlap sack? What do you use to get around?
I keep a bookbag on hand, filled with- you guessed it- books. My main gold pouch is sewn to the inside of the bookbag, and I keep a smaller one on hand with me at all times. Otherwise, I use my pockets for everything. Theyâre certainly showing it by now, too. In fact, the pants Iâm wearing right now need to have the right pocket sewn back together. In my pockets, though, I keep everything. What takes the most space in my pockets by far is the keys. I keep the keys for the house, the spare house, the bookstore, the inn, and the stables. I also keep a master key for the house on Orchinet, and for Abbaâs house. Do you still call him (my father, Albatross) that? I think I- I do, I have a key for Mama Asamiâs house too. And a few I donât recognize. I think one might be from the bunker when I served in the Hordeâs military, judging by the Orgrimmar emblem on it.
What do you carry with you? What you keep on hand says a lot about who you are. The books speak volumes to my personality- I read often, write often, and love to discuss and share knowledge. My keys probably speak more than the books do, however. At my current young age I run a bookstore cafe and an inn, and run back and forth between the two frequently on my daily routines. I keep keys places because I tend to be a bit detail-oriented. While Abba will remember his axe and shield, heâll forget his house key. Aunt Cress will remember her extra shoes, and forget her keys. I worry about things often, and repeat lists in my head to get things done. Itâs just a part of who I am.
Your mother doesnât carry bags, nor does she have pockets. She always is putting stuff in mine. What that says, I donât know- your motherâs crazy. I love her, but I swear if I stopped having pockets sheâd just stop carrying things. I found a candy wrapper in the pocket of my pants that I donât remember eating.
Think about what you carry on hand. If you ever had to empty your pockets somewhere, what parts of you would you show in the things you carry?
Also, if you ever forget your keys, Iâll have a copy.
Itâs raining. Not uncommon for the Jade Forest, but it felt unwelcome this time.
With slow, quiet steps, he headed outside into the downpour. It was a bit muddy, and he had no shoes on, but he didnât stop. His blue bird companion lifted her head in concern and followed him out.
It didnât feel right. Normally, his hair would be covering his face by now, but it wasnât. It couldnât. He cut it off.
Ika gently grabbed his pants leg with her beak, trying to pull back. But he just wouldnât stop. The curled path ahead led down to the shore, and his destination. She didnât like this- she didnât like any of it lately. He wasnât himself. And she hadnât been able to save him.
With worried eyes, the crane watched her partner, her best friend, as he approached the shoreline. There was an underlying source of unease, and her head screamed this. If he went too far in that water, she had to get him.
But he didnât. When he finally got there, the red-haired ranger stood silently for just a second, then lowered himself to the ground. He laid on his side, in the cold, wet sand, and started to cry.
This wasnât what she thought would happen. Ikaâs head feathers fell flat, and she approached him slowly. With one more failed attempt to pull him back, she only had one more idea. So, she walked up in front of him and sat to cuddle against him.
After a few minutes, the front door of the house slid open to the nose of one more creature- Noall, his wolf. Her tail wagged in the light of the open door, then stopped when she didnât get the usual excited greeting she was used to. So, with a âboof,â she signaled for the other animals that something was wrong. Loud enough for their sensitive ears, quiet enough not to wake the rest of the house.Â
When she arrived down, her tail wagged again and she decided it was her time to cheer him up. Before she could deliver this soaking lick to his face, the sad stare from Ika stopped her. This wasnât a cheer up situation.
So, against his back, she curled up and laid.
The hulking Pandaren tiger was next, and was already close by. He stared with half-closed eyes, not confused in the slightest but not wholly awake. Without hesitation, he pushed himself into the pile to slide his shoulder under Lyrelarkâs arm. No need resting your head on wet sand.
Following was the loud, splashing leaps of Thunder. This giant white direhorn child was usually rowdy, and currently was no different; but when he saw the pile, and the stares from the other animals, he managed to catch on. Dad was sad. So, he walked up to his feet slowly and looked down, then flopped on the sand and rested his chin on his legs.Â
The final beast came, with a white glow in the darkness of the forest. Wishflurry emerged, the massive moose looking down with confusion at all of the others. Being the newest, he wasnât used to group piles like this. But it didnât take long for him to understand. He disappeared at first, before returning with his sleeping blanket draped over his antlers. With a small scooch to Dhara, he held his head over Lyrelarkâs to keep the rain from his face.
With the whole party now there, they stayed until morning; hoping it was just a bad night in his recovery.
âCome- no, no, no!â Frustration was rampant today, and it had nothing to do with the returning rain. The wall now had a crumbling hole where it was struck by a flying prosthetic leg- Lyrelarkâs. He sat on the floor crying, fuming, and breaking down. No lights were on, no one else was in the room, and the baby was crying across the house.
It was like this for around an hour until the doors slid open to Varia, and rescue would come. She noticed the dark house, the crying child, and the panicking animals immediately and made her way to the bedroom. Upon seeing the leg, the hole, and her broken husband, it was obvious.
âLyre, dear, you need to call me when this happens.â She knelt and took his hand in hers, quickly kissing the top of his head. âI canât help you if I donât know itâs happening.â
âI couldnât get to the stone.â Lyrelark took his hand back and shook his own head. âI couldnât walk, I couldnât do anything. I canât take it anymore.â
âStop,â she responded sternly. âYou are strong. I know it hurts, and I know itâs hard. But you will get through this.â Clearly Varia was strong too, because she lifted up, dead-weight and all, and dragged him to the bed. âLook at m- look at me now, Lyrelark. I love you. But start asking for help. Stop leaving your stone in the other room. Find a grounding when you start to fall apart, and hold onto it the best you can.â
Tears came quicker, and Lyrelark buried his face in her chest. âYouâre my grounding...â
Dear Piper,
Today I broke again. Iâm not proud... and Iâm not happy. Itâs been a rough day, and Iâm ready for it to end. I havenât seen you yet, but it sounds like your mother has you taken care of.
Itâs been less than a year since I lost my leg on the Broken Shore. When the Legion came, the whole world took up arms. For the first time in a very long time, we all fought the same enemy with the same ferocity that we put against each other all this time. For me, it was the first time since my discharge from the military that I fought with my whole life as my force.
It was because of that force that I nearly lost my life as I had been so willing to give it.
While fighting, an infernal caught my leg in its chest and completely snapped it off of my body. The only reason I lived is because Noall landed between me and the ground below, and on that day I thought I had lost her. Luckily, she was found some time later.
My leg was never returned, as you likely know at this part of your life. Iâve been walking the world on a prosthetic, and itâs been the greatest challenge of my life.
As I am now, I stand with a lot of gained weight, a scraggly beard, and Iâm less in shape than Iâve ever been physically. If youâve ever tried hopping on one leg, dear, itâs a fun game but itâs impossible to live that way.
My hair is almost completely red again, for once, and your mother is happy about that. My eyes have taken on blue since the spirit-bond with Ika, but I usually keep them green with contacts and glamour.
I put forward my all to make sure I appeared happy, safe, and okay with my leg after we retreated from the Shore. Your mother was broken apart... and I understand why. We lost a lot more than just my leg, that day.Â
In reality, I fell apart slowly as time passed and Iâve still not recovered. Phantom limb pain is a plague and itâs the hardest illness Iâve ever faced. Waking up with the smoldering pain of that infernal on my leg is... horrifying, if thereâs a stronger word it applies. Trying to get to water, to medication, or something real when it happens is nearly impossible. Today, it hit me like a freight train and I recognize I need to start getting help. I need to work on it.
Your mother is everything, Piper. She is kind, sweet, smart, and she is my grounding. When reality fails me and pain is all I find, she keeps me where itâs safe. She holds me down and fights off every nightmare, every scream in the night. Like she stops your crying now, she has stopped mine ten times more.Â
Love your mother, Piper. Wherever you two are in life, love her like you may lose her. If I ever did... I would fall apart.
âAlright. Now...â Just as Lyrelark sat down to begin writing, it began. He knew a storm was coming soon, and knew exactly what it meant.Â
The very recipient of his letters was, by all accounts, fearless. Piper spent much of her time in the company of beasts, counting a tiger, a moose, a wolf, a crane, and even a dinosaur. With all of these creatures, she rarely did anything but smile. They were her siblings, her family.
There was but one thing that scared her; thunder. Because of this fear, she had learned to associate the sounds of rain with thunderâs crash. Anytime rain fell, she cried.
This was no different. Lyrelark made his way to the crying infant and lifted her, holding her against his shoulder. âThere, there... Come on now.â He spoke with a gentle voice to offer her solace, but it didnât work. The crying was endless.
It gave him an idea. With speedy steps, Lyrelark took them both downstairs and stepped out in front of the house. Here, they were covered by a small section of roof, but so far Piper was not happy. She continued to cry out and even reached a hand toward the door.
Gently, Lyrelark set her down on the step and walked out into the rain. Piperâs face showed nothing but fear, but her crying stopped when dad started dancing in the water. Finally, when he laughed and gave her a wave, she smiled and reached up. Lyrelark lifted his happy child and brought her out to dance with him, getting a perfect idea for his next letter.
Dear Piper,
When children discover their first fears, they often make little to no sense. Fears such as darkness or loud noises are common, but babies are generally scared of things they simply donât understand. You, of course, are an exception; youâre possibly the bravest creature Iâve ever known. As of right now, your only fear has been thunder and us leaving the room. And, starting today, I think Iâve kicked your thunder fear out the door.
I, on the other hand, was not nearly as brave a child. Youâd never guess it, but as a baby and even a small child literally everything terrified me. Animals were probably the top of my terror list, but even loud noises and unfamiliar people left me shaking. Two people were instrumental in acclimating me to the outside world; your grandfather, Albatross, and your late grandmother Sonata.
Now, they used different strategies. Dad isnât a gentle type, but he tried his best for us. When weâd encounter an animal I feared or a scary area, his answer was to confront it. There was one specific situation I remember that dealt with a cliff near the home I grew up in. As an adult, that cliffâs nothing- itâs a small climb. As a child, however, itâs a mountain.
Your grandfather went up there every day because it was where he kept the houseâs firewood. Every day, on the clock, heâd ask for help- and your aunt Crescendion would have to go help him. Eventually, I decided enough was enough and wanted to help him too. I tried to climb that cliff alone, and when I slipped off I was sure that was it for me- but your grandfather caught me. From that day on, it was a game for us; Iâd climb up, âfall off,â and heâd catch me. I never feared that cliff again.
Your grandmother handled fears her own way. Most of our days were spent inside, learning music; she taught me piano, cello... All sorts of things. When the sun set, we sat on the porch swing and watched dragonhawk fly by. If they got too close, though, it was over.Â
One day, she decided to have our viola lesson outside. I was about ten at the time, and was still mortified of a close encounter with these creatures. She kept my back to the woods and played alongside me, but little did I know the dragonhawks were attracted to the sounds of music. After a few minutes of playing, one had flown right behind me to listen with curiosity. Your grandmother stepped back and grabbed some of the feed from the porch, and fed it right by my face. Oh, boy did I cry- but then she showed me something. When she whistled, it tilted its head. It was such a simple thing! But it was enough to make me laugh, and evening dragonhawk feedings became a tradition for us.
Those days are long gone, now. But theyâre in my heart forever. I just hope you can remember days like this one, dear. The day we danced in the rain to fight your fear. I know babies donât retain much from this age, but itâs at least a day Iâll always remember. My parents gave me everything; they opened my heart and eyes to the world around me. I hope your heartâs just as open as mine was.
With a sigh, Lyrelark took a drink of his tea and leaned back. One letter was down... and maybe he could knock out a second in one day. With Piper sleeping now on the bed, he had at least a few moments of quiet before her nap ended. So, with a knuckle-crack and an adjustment of his reading specs, the increasingly dad-like, well, dad went back to writing.
Dear Piper,
Iâve got many stories from my life that I hope to share with you. Iâm guessing by now youâve heard many of them, and you may have noticed a pattern; some of the craziest come from birthdays.
After changing you and feeding you a snack (mushed bananas, by the way. your mother doesnât approve) I had considered writing this letter to tell you about what happened July 18th of this year. It was by far the craziest birthday Iâve had yet, Iâll tell you that much- but I wonât waste your time with that. Iâm here to talk about your birthday.
Itâs funny, really. As you already know, you were adopted. Your aunt Samni found you and brought you to us because, well, sheâs terrible with kids. And I mean terrible- sheâs held you maybe three or four times as of now, and everytime she looks like sheâs about to launch you into space. Anyway, I deter. She found you on August 13th, and we were the first people she thought of when she sought to get rid of you. Itâs nothing personal, really. Itâs the whole âbabyâ thing.
Now, it was some months before you were finally actually adopted. It took quite awhile, but thatâs a story for another time.
Being adopted meant you had no actual discernible birth date other than medical guesses. Your cognitive and physical development allowed us to guess that you were no more than a couple months old (technically) when we got you, but we had no clue how long you spent in stasis. It was an enigma, and it was one that we had to decide for ourselves. Because no baby should grow up without a birthday. It came between two days- adoption date and the day we met you. Ultimately, we went with the latter because we remembered how we felt when we first laid our eyes upon you. Thatâs just the type of joy that should be preserved and remembered every year.
Iâve forgotten birthdays over the years, but Iâll never forget August 13th. Because that day was one of the happiest of my life. My wishes had been answered, and I canât even begin to tell you the pure happiness you brought to your mother just by existing in the same room. She never knew if a baby she called her own would ever lie in her arms, and that summer day it finally happened.Â
No matter where you are in life, I want you to remember the way you moved us. You brought us a happiness that weâd never have gotten otherwise, and weâll always love you for that.
Happy birthday for all the birthdays between now and the day you read this.
