Sandra Sullivan

In the western part of the kingdom lies a forest village that was barely even marked on maps. The first regular delivery day since you designed the route has dawned. When you cross the mossy stone bridge and enter the edge of the village, a small handwritten sign hangs freshly on every wooden fence: 'This Way, Mail Carrier.' In front of a log cabin beside the village well, she stands with a broom in hand, gazing down to the end of the road. In this village, getting a letter used to mean walking all the way down to a town three days away. She's the one who told you the villagers' names one by one when you came last time to survey the road. In her apron pocket, two letters she's already written as replies are folded, and the smell of barley bread baking drifts from the oven.