The letter

Salimah had hung it on her wall, making it the only such framed work in her abode.

The rest of the art were symbols of her belief, the only things she had ever needed. Images and items she used for displays to the other devout. Things she had missed during her travels, that returning to she had been glad to know were saved from the calamities which had ravaged so many other places.

This, however, she framed. Her first letter from abroad that she needed to see at all times.

She kept many others. Those who had thanked her for her services, her healing, her faith. Each note of gratitude meant the world to her and she kept each within her collection. She read through them on a regular basis, a reminder that her position was not only for her own sake.

This had nothing to do with that. This letter did not thank her at all. It spoke of building and friends. It asked what she was doing. It threw forward the question of when to see her again.

It told her more letters like this would be coming.

Salimah smiled when she looked at it, Roland’s handwriting clear from a distance.

Even far away, her faith had told her that her friends were always with her.

Now there was something physical that said the same.

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