My Dear Elensul,

One morning, just before my fifth birthday (I remember because I was very excited about it) I came outside into the garden. It was my Mother's favourite place and I knew I could find her there. She was dancing in front of a tree I had never seen before. I know now that it must have been an illusion. The tree was beautiful, gravid with yellow fruit and small yellow birds sang in it's branches. She was wearing a gown that was by turns blue, then green. The fabric was softer than the softest silk, it must have been Elvish in origin, for I haven't seen it's like since. She didn't notice me at first, and I stood spellbound, for she was so very lovely, but then she fixed a sad and frank gaze on me and said, "E'er long, I will leave you, little one. But you mustn't be afraid, for you will see me again one day, yonder." She raised one frail white hand and gestured toward the West.

I began to cry, then, because I didn't want her to go.

Soft her footfalls on the green
White arms lift me up
She holds me high above her
And tells me this is what it's like to fly.

It was the last time I saw her.

I wanted you to have this picture of her, so you will always remember that Stephen and I share your grief, your sense of loss, and your quest for justice.

Happy birthday, Elensul.

Your Kindred, Jaden 25th Heat, 802