The language of Kitty Janger's flowers was silence. Meaning, she never received any. Not for years, at least. The last bunch had come from her neighbour, Anges; for when her father had died. Kitty had resolved to start growing her own; splashed in little pots about their cobbled yard. Though, the wind was chill now, and the daffodils were sleeping.
Flowers never came from her husband, Roalf. Not even now that they were rowing. No white carnations of apology for Kitty. They were still knocking heads. Locked in submission. But Kitty was sure that she would win. Her husbands puffing and bellowing didn't bother her any. She was nearing her fifty-fith winter; she was old enough to have learned patience. Six children birthed; so she knew pain. And raising them all had taught her endurance. So, yes. Kitty Janger was not worried. She had everything at her disposal that she needed to win. She was as formidable as farmer's wives came.
Kitty was up with the dawn, and about in her pyjamas. She was down along the secret passageway - that was truly nothing more than the overgrown path that trailed from their farmhouse to the road. But that is what the kids used to call it when they were young, and the name stuck. She'd lost count of the time she'd scolded the boys for peeing in it.
The early wind blew about Kitty's exposed ankles as she came to the tumbled fence that flanked the end of the muddy trail. The 'rifter was just coming up, and the sky was pleasantly pink. But Kitty wasn't looking at that. She was busy watching the road; the courier should be by soon. Her skinny fingers fumbled with the items in her housecoat pocket; two silvers and a crinkled letter. She had habitually fondled them throughout her walk through the secret passageway, fearful that she might drop them.
They were items that she could not avoid to lose. The letter, especially. Kitty Janger had never learned her spellings and such. She had to enlist one of Anges' kids to write it for her. That letter in her pocket, it was the only one she had ever written in her life. And she hoped that it was good enough.
She did not have long to wait. Valornian couriers are punctual sorts. Not even a marc later she sighted the lad coming up the road. Kitty stood straighter in her meagre pyjamas, and opted her best Sunday voice to address him.
"Good turn, young sir. Could you see this missive to Mister Bifrost Janger, please."
The courier bobbed his head and accepted the letter to his pack and the coins to his pocket. The two silvers weren't enough. But the young lad hadn't the heart to tell the weathered woman at the side of the road. So he accepted the job, and silently resolved that he'd square the remainder with Bif when he found him.