Stupid... stupid! Bryn thought loudly, the dull squeak of his boots resounding off the walls. He paced back and forth in his cold tower room, reading the letter over and over again with increasing disbelief. This can't be right.. There's no way! But the longer he dwelt on the matter, the more he came to realise that it was true;

Dear Bryn,

Your Uncle requests your immediate summons. Your mother, the Lady Hwllbyrdson, has progressed in her illness. She was found this morning in her bed, deceased...

Formalities and other nonsense crowded the rest of the page. Bryn could hardly stand for it, his mother was dead and all the penwrite could truly care about was a big hefty seal of wax carved with intricate grape vines.

Bryn sat on his bed for several hours, not moving, and let the weight sink into his bones. His mother, his beautiful mother, so loving and caring had been taken away by cold hand of his father. Bryn knew it was his fault; after he passed away, his mother had slowly died of sadness and loneliness.

He began to pack when the sun's edge had just cut through the horizon. Night was slain by the vibrant rays. It was a calm morning. Mist hung dreamily and birds chirped in the growing warmth. Hopefully, the sun will keep him warm from now on, for the last of the embers in the fire died with one last long, deep sigh...