The elf was a scrawny six feet tall and wore fine green robes embroidered with a multicolored autumn leaf pattern. The colors clashed, but Stephan had never been concerned with appearances. His flowing auburn hair was cut unfashionably short and a pair of silver-framed spectacles sat on his nose.
“It’s not my letter,” Stephan told the dwarf. “It’s from Fleurette.”
“Really?” said Daeve. “Wonder why she went through the trouble of sending you?”
While Stephan searched his pockets for the items he needed for his healing spell, Daeve leaned against a stalagmite and opened the letter. It was four pages long and densely covered in Fleurette’s tight handwriting. The dwarf squinted his eyes, his lips moving soundlessly as he read.
Stephan found what he needed and pulled a pouch of herbs out of
