Faolan's smile now does have ferocity in it - quiet, considering, like a predator deciding whether it might want to hunt prey it's seen.
And delighted. He feels placid delight: Dima liked it. What almost happened. What could have happened, what might happen. Oh, not tonight; tonight he has a different plan. But another night when they can be alone, or maybe in broad daylight on the river's edge, he'll pin Daddy down -
Better not to think about that right now.
But he does catch Dima's jaw between two bloody fingers and his thumb and lean in for one more kiss, one more look with heavy-lidded, dreaming eyes. "If you'd like another lesson, all you ever need to do is...mm. Say."
Say. Command. Guide him -
A thought registers that knocks the air from his lungs and the smile from his lips. A vision, or a waking dream: Daddy, instructing him as he works his blade.
...They're not making it back to camp if he keeps thinking along these lines. With a heavy breath, he steps back, his trailing fingers leaving faint streaks of gore on Dima's jaw. "Back to the thieves? I'd rather not feel rushed from anything with you. Conversations. Lessons."
The potential drag of a knife.
"You deserve all my focus. All my precise care."
And, with a smile that shows more teeth than normal, he adds softly, "Daddy."
If there's no objection from Dima, he'll begin the trek back to camp with the deer meat.
<.>
"Wise Puppy," he murmurs. Words admiring and spun dizzy; words he doesn't knows he's speaking until he feels his breath against his lips.
(This is what people mean, then, when they speaking of going weak-kneed.
Before he met Faolan, Dima had never understood the phrase as anything other than exaggeration, but for a moment, several moments, it's lucky Faolan's against him, fingers clasping Dima's jaw, because there's no other force to keep him upright.)
Gods, he wants to call Puppy to his lesson.
It doesn't help that he hears the implication in that 'say.' An invitation to conjoin command and keen infliction, and that's a path Dmitri can't think down just now, or he's liable to give in to rushing. Which would be satisfying in its way, yes, but Dima's deeply inclined to agree with Fae: He wants to take his time with Puppy, to draw out and drown in every moment, hand-in-hand, body wrapping body.
So he grins back at Faolan, eyebrows raised, his own teeth flashed in promise. Speaking louder, more firmly this time: "Good Puppy."
And with his Puppy, Dima heads back to the camp.
When Rin - and, presumably, Sen - are etching lines in the dirt, playing some manner of game that may or may not be either tic tac crab or hangcrab and looking really very pleased abut something, as the crab dinner cooks. As Dima and Fae move closer, Rin calls without looking up, "Crab night!" Then, muttering to themself, debating the merit of the word: "Crabbit night?"
<.>
Before Dima can respond to the announcement of Crabbit Night, Faolan frowns faintly, then amends to Rin: "Crabbit for us; rabbit for Dima."
Quickly, he adds, "You caught all that today - that's wonderfully done, Rin. Both of you. We'll eat well tonight and dry the deer for the journey."
"Trying to sweeten us up and make us forget Dima won't be eating the crabbit?" Sen drawls, pushing a still-live crab back into its place on the tic-tac-crab board.
"I can give praise and distraction at the same time," Faolan replies. Between darting glances at Dima and the other two, he first hands over to Rin the berries he found, then sits on the ground and begins the work of slicing the venison.
“Why isn't Dima eating the crab portion of the crabbit?" Sen directs this question to Dima himself.
<.>
He thinks, again, again, he's very lucky; offers Faolan an appreciative smile before he can catch himself.
He thinks, as well, How? Before the pieces quickly fall to place: It's no secret in Morovsk that the Voronins have an aversion to - or, for those just a little further in the know, a familial allergy to - shellfish. It particularly wouldn't be a secret for anyone who visited more than a party or two of Daniil's, quick as the little shit is to advertise an allergy that Dima would much rather never goddamn acknowledge.
It feels humiliating, at times: To have this allergy so near the sea. To have this weakness widely known.
It's something Dmitri's tried to ignore and overcome on multiple occasions; the result has never been hopeful. And it's something Dima might have tried to ignore for this particular meal, had Faolan not spoken.
He clears his throat, shoots a sharp glance at Sen. "I find the creatures unsightly." There's a snarl in his voice, a warning—
Until he catches sight of Faolan, hesitates. Finds himself admitting, his lip ticked in a sneer, his irritation now directed toward himself: "And I would much prefer to carry on breathing tonight."
(It's... it's nice that Faolan was thinking of Dima, even if Dima doesn't care for the truth he knows. Skirting the truth felt a little too much like a betrayal, or like swatting aside the hand extended to aid him.
Well. And. Probably best to have some measure of the truth known, so neither thief gets it into their head to slip him some shellfish on a lark.)
Rin, who is in the middle of attempting to place a crown of hastily woven grass onto the crab in the middle square, looks up, then adds helpfully, "Ohhh. The crabs don't like you." Looking back down, they add, "Crabs can be persnickety like that, that's true."
<.>
Sen's response is almost immediate: he makes a disappointed sound. With it, he flaps a hand dismissively and turns back to his game of tic-tac-crab. Clearly, he had expected this to be a "won't" rather than "can't" situation and was hoping to bicker.
"No crabbit for you until you can self-resurrect." To Rin, he asks thoughtfully, "Do you suppose they like us? We are eating them."
Faolan casts another glance at Dima - one that lingers, becomes a slow regard from head to toe, full of appreciation before he remembers Dima didn't sound particularly pleased about the crabs. Or his allergy to them. Inclining his head invitingly for Dima to sit beside him, he waits until the half-elf is close enough for him to lower his voice and speak.
"Sorry. Your brother's so...um. Vocal about it. I should've asked."
And he speaks softer still, "You're not missing out on anything today. The rabbit's fatted and likely tender cooked. And I think those two might've been fucking by the crabs."
With his knife, Faolan indicates his nose. He can smell it.
<.>
Having managed to get the crown onto the crab, Rin is now arranging the berries in a bowl so that they look their berry best. (It's a nice selection of berries Faolan returned with. And it was nice of him to say about everything Rin and Sen gathered.
Faolan's pretty all right, in Rin's opinion. Not as good as Sen, of course - no one's anywhere near as good as Sen - but definitely all right!)
As they make their next tic-tac-move, Rin tries to offer a crab a berry, shrugs as the crab tries to scuttle away. "Well, they're don't like berries, and everyone has to like something, and since we're pretty much the only other thing here, that means they must like us, right?"
They think a moment, tapping at their cheek, then nod and add, "And it's nice to be appreciated. Probably these crabs know we appreciate them, which has got to count for something."
Thank every god that is and never was; Sen's dropped the fucking thing. (There's that much to be said for the shithead: He doesn't push at what's dire, or make much mockery of... Well. Of fucking weaknesses that can't be fucking helped.
All the godsfucked magic in the world and Dima would still be incapable of eating fucking shellfish.)
Dmitri might be shooting glowers toward the crabs, living and cooking alike. The glower stops when he feels Faolan's gaze upon him; when he turns, and sees that invitation. His irritation doesn't vanish, but its sharpness fades, and of course he joins Fae. Frowns at the mention of his brother, but the rest is—
He snorts, shakes his head. "An aftereffect of your wolf's shape?" And, casting an amused look toward the thieves, "It's a wonder neither of them were pinched in the process. A crab-ridden beach wouldn't be my first choice for—" 'Fucking'? That doesn't feel quite right. "For such worship.
"But then, they are peculiar. Both of them." The tone of his voice suggests 'peculiar,' but not held in dislike.
After a moment, letting his eyes return to Fae, letting himself take in the sight of the man, he sighs just slightly. "Daniil likes to make the 'inconvenience' known.
"I find it rather— This incapacity of mine. I find it rather galling."
<.>
It's Faolan's turn to snort. "Worship. Is that what you think they were doing."
Sen, in the midst of considering whether using the crabs for tic-tac-crab is a form of pre-cooking torture, veers from what he was beginning to say to, "Mind your business, Faolan."
At Fae's surprise for having been heard, the elf pantomimes the gesture Faolan used with his knife, though indicating his ears. Faolan tsks and returns his attention to the venison, though he casts a surreptitious, amused glance at Dima.
Sobering some, he leans closer so they're pressed shoulder to shoulder the way they had been when he was still in his other form. "Is it really incapacity to not be able to eat crabs? I think you could do what Daniil does with a little more finesse. Use it as a way to compel others to cater to you. It's not your inconvenience, then. It's theirs."
Almost abruptly, he darts a kiss against Dima's cheek, then, eyes on his work again, continues, "Not mine, either. I prefer game to fish, so we'll never have a wretched dinner together."
<.>
The kiss catches him by surprised, please and fluttered light, and it's entirely possible that Fae can glimpse a brief flush of color at Dima's cheeks, discernible as a soft laugh is drawn from him, as he bites his lip lightly, and looks to Faolan with a smile—
Then darts his own kiss - an arcing, graceful path - to the edge of Fae's jaw.
Spoken softly, purred light like pattered rainfall: "My Fae.”
Amazing - and, really, not so astonishing at all; doesn't it make perfect sense? - the way Dima's heart lights to speak those words, or 'my Puppy,' or 'Puppy,' or any way of speaking his (love's) (mate's) Dearest's name.
"You're very good to me, Puppy." Then, speaking louder, more than a little pointedly toward Sen, "And I suppose what they were up to was a good deal more unholy."
From across the clearing, Rin pipes up, "And much more fun!"
Dima shakes his head, rolls his eyes, then returns his focus to Faolan. Watching his work, the slip of deft hands, as he speaks again: "I care little for— Mm. It isn't in my nature to brook circumstances that stand beyond my will or alteration.
"I don't— Care for it." There's a sniff and a toss of his hair. Then, frustration fading again: "That said, I'm pleased that we'll have many happy dinners together. Countless ahead of us, I should say." He lets himself smile, lets himself trace a hand beside Fae's ear - carefully, so as not to interrupt - and then—
"As it happens, I am equipped to manage any of Daniil's endeavors with infinitely more finesse. But that's saying very little."
Dima might. Might. Still be particularly annoyed about Daniil after his talk with (last talk with) (fucking, never mind) Vitaly. And it occurs to him that he never spoke a word of it beyond the message sent to his sister. So.
"...I don't believe I told you. I don't believe I've told any of you, in the midst of all that happened. But it has reached my ears that my shit of a brother may have thrown in his hand for one of Calabra's daughters."
<.>
The sudden shift from lighthearted banter and, yes, kisses, catches both Sen and Faolan by surprise. (In both of their estimations, it's hard to say what catches Rin by surprise. Ever.)
Dima does have their attention. Faolan has stopped carving, staring blankly now at the man at his side, and Sen is casting perplexed glances between Dima and Rin.
"Doesn't he dislike your family?" Faolan asks carefully. "Can't be anything good to come out of it. He -"
A beat and then a faint curl of his lip. "Oh, was that who the letter was for? Nngh."
Sen, having no familiarity with Daniil, comments, "Can't have been. Whoever that was, they'd been carrying on a while with Calabra. You'd have known by now."
Seeing the look Faolan is trying very hard to hide, Sen amends, "Wouldn't you?"
<.>
He hadn't.
Precisely.
Intended to bring things to a halt.
He also doesn't like to have brought his brother into any manner of extended discussion.
Nor does he like to admit how fucking little he knows, or knew of Daniil's activities. And Dmitri is looking from Faolan to Sen, attempting to decide how to respond, feeling a gathering storm in his mind as he thinks that yes he should have known, should have at least guessed at the potential, only it doesn't make a fucking bit of sense, not that sense has mattered a damn to his brother, and Dima's beginning to hear his blood pounding in his ear when—
"Man, your brother's gonna be pisssssed when he finds out about the. Trunks and whetstone and tiny portrait man. Whatever his name was." Rin, who hadn't entirely been paying attention, finally caught onto what was being discussed. Looking at Dima, they add, "I didn't really know you had a brother."
Dima snorts a breath. "I regularly wish I didn't."
There's a silence after, where Dima looks at the other party members, then at the fire. Where he scoots closer still to Faolan, and winds an arm around his Puppy's waist. Seeking stability. Seeking proof of something bright. And wanting to let Fae know that Dima - however abstracted - is still here.
"There are times - rare times - that my brother is capable of discretion." Particularly when he wants something his siblings might cut off. "And I have been away from Morovsk for months now." Away physically, and before that, internally distanced, distracted; his attention drawn often into half-sensical quandaries and perhaps-imagined threats.
"It wouldn't be wise of him, but it is Daniil's habit to act ahead of wisdom. I can't say he wouldn't attempt a fuckforsaken pact of this kind."
And, looking at Fae - his expression a mingling of plea, apology, and frustration - "It is entirely possibly that the letter was for him. I am not entirely convinced— But it's another potential signpost not to be dismissed."
no subject
And delighted. He feels placid delight: Dima liked it. What almost happened. What could have happened, what might happen. Oh, not tonight; tonight he has a different plan. But another night when they can be alone, or maybe in broad daylight on the river's edge, he'll pin Daddy down -
Better not to think about that right now.
But he does catch Dima's jaw between two bloody fingers and his thumb and lean in for one more kiss, one more look with heavy-lidded, dreaming eyes. "If you'd like another lesson, all you ever need to do is...mm. Say."
Say. Command. Guide him -
A thought registers that knocks the air from his lungs and the smile from his lips. A vision, or a waking dream: Daddy, instructing him as he works his blade.
...They're not making it back to camp if he keeps thinking along these lines. With a heavy breath, he steps back, his trailing fingers leaving faint streaks of gore on Dima's jaw. "Back to the thieves? I'd rather not feel rushed from anything with you. Conversations. Lessons."
The potential drag of a knife.
"You deserve all my focus. All my precise care."
And, with a smile that shows more teeth than normal, he adds softly, "Daddy."
If there's no objection from Dima, he'll begin the trek back to camp with the deer meat.
<.>
"Wise Puppy," he murmurs. Words admiring and spun dizzy; words he doesn't knows he's speaking until he feels his breath against his lips.
(This is what people mean, then, when they speaking of going weak-kneed.
Before he met Faolan, Dima had never understood the phrase as anything other than exaggeration, but for a moment, several moments, it's lucky Faolan's against him, fingers clasping Dima's jaw, because there's no other force to keep him upright.)
Gods, he wants to call Puppy to his lesson.
It doesn't help that he hears the implication in that 'say.' An invitation to conjoin command and keen infliction, and that's a path Dmitri can't think down just now, or he's liable to give in to rushing. Which would be satisfying in its way, yes, but Dima's deeply inclined to agree with Fae: He wants to take his time with Puppy, to draw out and drown in every moment, hand-in-hand, body wrapping body.
So he grins back at Faolan, eyebrows raised, his own teeth flashed in promise. Speaking louder, more firmly this time: "Good Puppy."
And with his Puppy, Dima heads back to the camp.
When Rin - and, presumably, Sen - are etching lines in the dirt, playing some manner of game that may or may not be either tic tac crab or hangcrab and looking really very pleased abut something, as the crab dinner cooks. As Dima and Fae move closer, Rin calls without looking up, "Crab night!" Then, muttering to themself, debating the merit of the word: "Crabbit night?"
<.>
Before Dima can respond to the announcement of Crabbit Night, Faolan frowns faintly, then amends to Rin: "Crabbit for us; rabbit for Dima."
Quickly, he adds, "You caught all that today - that's wonderfully done, Rin. Both of you. We'll eat well tonight and dry the deer for the journey."
"Trying to sweeten us up and make us forget Dima won't be eating the crabbit?" Sen drawls, pushing a still-live crab back into its place on the tic-tac-crab board.
"I can give praise and distraction at the same time," Faolan replies. Between darting glances at Dima and the other two, he first hands over to Rin the berries he found, then sits on the ground and begins the work of slicing the venison.
“Why isn't Dima eating the crab portion of the crabbit?" Sen directs this question to Dima himself.
<.>
He thinks, again, again, he's very lucky; offers Faolan an appreciative smile before he can catch himself.
He thinks, as well, How? Before the pieces quickly fall to place: It's no secret in Morovsk that the Voronins have an aversion to - or, for those just a little further in the know, a familial allergy to - shellfish. It particularly wouldn't be a secret for anyone who visited more than a party or two of Daniil's, quick as the little shit is to advertise an allergy that Dima would much rather never goddamn acknowledge.
It feels humiliating, at times: To have this allergy so near the sea. To have this weakness widely known.
It's something Dmitri's tried to ignore and overcome on multiple occasions; the result has never been hopeful. And it's something Dima might have tried to ignore for this particular meal, had Faolan not spoken.
He clears his throat, shoots a sharp glance at Sen. "I find the creatures unsightly." There's a snarl in his voice, a warning—
Until he catches sight of Faolan, hesitates. Finds himself admitting, his lip ticked in a sneer, his irritation now directed toward himself: "And I would much prefer to carry on breathing tonight."
(It's... it's nice that Faolan was thinking of Dima, even if Dima doesn't care for the truth he knows. Skirting the truth felt a little too much like a betrayal, or like swatting aside the hand extended to aid him.
Well. And. Probably best to have some measure of the truth known, so neither thief gets it into their head to slip him some shellfish on a lark.)
Rin, who is in the middle of attempting to place a crown of hastily woven grass onto the crab in the middle square, looks up, then adds helpfully, "Ohhh. The crabs don't like you." Looking back down, they add, "Crabs can be persnickety like that, that's true."
<.>
Sen's response is almost immediate: he makes a disappointed sound. With it, he flaps a hand dismissively and turns back to his game of tic-tac-crab. Clearly, he had expected this to be a "won't" rather than "can't" situation and was hoping to bicker.
"No crabbit for you until you can self-resurrect." To Rin, he asks thoughtfully, "Do you suppose they like us? We are eating them."
Faolan casts another glance at Dima - one that lingers, becomes a slow regard from head to toe, full of appreciation before he remembers Dima didn't sound particularly pleased about the crabs. Or his allergy to them. Inclining his head invitingly for Dima to sit beside him, he waits until the half-elf is close enough for him to lower his voice and speak.
"Sorry. Your brother's so...um. Vocal about it. I should've asked."
And he speaks softer still, "You're not missing out on anything today. The rabbit's fatted and likely tender cooked. And I think those two might've been fucking by the crabs."
With his knife, Faolan indicates his nose. He can smell it.
<.>
Having managed to get the crown onto the crab, Rin is now arranging the berries in a bowl so that they look their berry best. (It's a nice selection of berries Faolan returned with. And it was nice of him to say about everything Rin and Sen gathered.
Faolan's pretty all right, in Rin's opinion. Not as good as Sen, of course - no one's anywhere near as good as Sen - but definitely all right!)
As they make their next tic-tac-move, Rin tries to offer a crab a berry, shrugs as the crab tries to scuttle away. "Well, they're don't like berries, and everyone has to like something, and since we're pretty much the only other thing here, that means they must like us, right?"
They think a moment, tapping at their cheek, then nod and add, "And it's nice to be appreciated. Probably these crabs know we appreciate them, which has got to count for something."
Thank every god that is and never was; Sen's dropped the fucking thing. (There's that much to be said for the shithead: He doesn't push at what's dire, or make much mockery of... Well. Of fucking weaknesses that can't be fucking helped.
All the godsfucked magic in the world and Dima would still be incapable of eating fucking shellfish.)
Dmitri might be shooting glowers toward the crabs, living and cooking alike. The glower stops when he feels Faolan's gaze upon him; when he turns, and sees that invitation. His irritation doesn't vanish, but its sharpness fades, and of course he joins Fae. Frowns at the mention of his brother, but the rest is—
He snorts, shakes his head. "An aftereffect of your wolf's shape?" And, casting an amused look toward the thieves, "It's a wonder neither of them were pinched in the process. A crab-ridden beach wouldn't be my first choice for—" 'Fucking'? That doesn't feel quite right. "For such worship.
"But then, they are peculiar. Both of them." The tone of his voice suggests 'peculiar,' but not held in dislike.
After a moment, letting his eyes return to Fae, letting himself take in the sight of the man, he sighs just slightly. "Daniil likes to make the 'inconvenience' known.
"I find it rather— This incapacity of mine. I find it rather galling."
<.>
It's Faolan's turn to snort. "Worship. Is that what you think they were doing."
Sen, in the midst of considering whether using the crabs for tic-tac-crab is a form of pre-cooking torture, veers from what he was beginning to say to, "Mind your business, Faolan."
At Fae's surprise for having been heard, the elf pantomimes the gesture Faolan used with his knife, though indicating his ears. Faolan tsks and returns his attention to the venison, though he casts a surreptitious, amused glance at Dima.
Sobering some, he leans closer so they're pressed shoulder to shoulder the way they had been when he was still in his other form. "Is it really incapacity to not be able to eat crabs? I think you could do what Daniil does with a little more finesse. Use it as a way to compel others to cater to you. It's not your inconvenience, then. It's theirs."
Almost abruptly, he darts a kiss against Dima's cheek, then, eyes on his work again, continues, "Not mine, either. I prefer game to fish, so we'll never have a wretched dinner together."
<.>
The kiss catches him by surprised, please and fluttered light, and it's entirely possible that Fae can glimpse a brief flush of color at Dima's cheeks, discernible as a soft laugh is drawn from him, as he bites his lip lightly, and looks to Faolan with a smile—
Then darts his own kiss - an arcing, graceful path - to the edge of Fae's jaw.
Spoken softly, purred light like pattered rainfall: "My Fae.”
Amazing - and, really, not so astonishing at all; doesn't it make perfect sense? - the way Dima's heart lights to speak those words, or 'my Puppy,' or 'Puppy,' or any way of speaking his (love's) (mate's) Dearest's name.
"You're very good to me, Puppy." Then, speaking louder, more than a little pointedly toward Sen, "And I suppose what they were up to was a good deal more unholy."
From across the clearing, Rin pipes up, "And much more fun!"
Dima shakes his head, rolls his eyes, then returns his focus to Faolan. Watching his work, the slip of deft hands, as he speaks again: "I care little for— Mm. It isn't in my nature to brook circumstances that stand beyond my will or alteration.
"I don't— Care for it." There's a sniff and a toss of his hair. Then, frustration fading again: "That said, I'm pleased that we'll have many happy dinners together. Countless ahead of us, I should say." He lets himself smile, lets himself trace a hand beside Fae's ear - carefully, so as not to interrupt - and then—
"As it happens, I am equipped to manage any of Daniil's endeavors with infinitely more finesse. But that's saying very little."
Dima might. Might. Still be particularly annoyed about Daniil after his talk with (last talk with) (fucking, never mind) Vitaly. And it occurs to him that he never spoke a word of it beyond the message sent to his sister. So.
"...I don't believe I told you. I don't believe I've told any of you, in the midst of all that happened. But it has reached my ears that my shit of a brother may have thrown in his hand for one of Calabra's daughters."
<.>
The sudden shift from lighthearted banter and, yes, kisses, catches both Sen and Faolan by surprise. (In both of their estimations, it's hard to say what catches Rin by surprise. Ever.)
Dima does have their attention. Faolan has stopped carving, staring blankly now at the man at his side, and Sen is casting perplexed glances between Dima and Rin.
"Doesn't he dislike your family?" Faolan asks carefully. "Can't be anything good to come out of it. He -"
A beat and then a faint curl of his lip. "Oh, was that who the letter was for? Nngh."
Sen, having no familiarity with Daniil, comments, "Can't have been. Whoever that was, they'd been carrying on a while with Calabra. You'd have known by now."
Seeing the look Faolan is trying very hard to hide, Sen amends, "Wouldn't you?"
<.>
He hadn't.
Precisely.
Intended to bring things to a halt.
He also doesn't like to have brought his brother into any manner of extended discussion.
Nor does he like to admit how fucking little he knows, or knew of Daniil's activities. And Dmitri is looking from Faolan to Sen, attempting to decide how to respond, feeling a gathering storm in his mind as he thinks that yes he should have known, should have at least guessed at the potential, only it doesn't make a fucking bit of sense, not that sense has mattered a damn to his brother, and Dima's beginning to hear his blood pounding in his ear when—
"Man, your brother's gonna be pisssssed when he finds out about the. Trunks and whetstone and tiny portrait man. Whatever his name was." Rin, who hadn't entirely been paying attention, finally caught onto what was being discussed. Looking at Dima, they add, "I didn't really know you had a brother."
Dima snorts a breath. "I regularly wish I didn't."
There's a silence after, where Dima looks at the other party members, then at the fire. Where he scoots closer still to Faolan, and winds an arm around his Puppy's waist. Seeking stability. Seeking proof of something bright. And wanting to let Fae know that Dima - however abstracted - is still here.
"There are times - rare times - that my brother is capable of discretion." Particularly when he wants something his siblings might cut off. "And I have been away from Morovsk for months now." Away physically, and before that, internally distanced, distracted; his attention drawn often into half-sensical quandaries and perhaps-imagined threats.
"It wouldn't be wise of him, but it is Daniil's habit to act ahead of wisdom. I can't say he wouldn't attempt a fuckforsaken pact of this kind."
And, looking at Fae - his expression a mingling of plea, apology, and frustration - "It is entirely possibly that the letter was for him. I am not entirely convinced— But it's another potential signpost not to be dismissed."
<.>