Ridahne had never considered the fact that the Guardian wrote letters. She supposed, like anyone, he would have people far away he wanted to send messages to, but she'd never heard of anyone who'd received a letter from the Guardian. Maybe only his close friends and national leaders got them. Though she supposed he would have received a great many letters from all over Astra. Did he read them all?

Ridahne shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it, but I guess you would. It's not like you'd be in trouble if you didn't know how to read--there's practically an entire small village of acolytes at the Farm who would be pleased to read messages to you, and dictate them. But I know that's not your style, I just mean you have options. But if you want, we could practice. Alternate nights training to fight--oh yes, I haven't forgotten," she said with what was probably supposed to be a wink, "and practicing reading and writing." 

Darin asked about Ridahne's experience the night of her fateful deed, and if it had been overwhelming. The warrior's puffy face twisted a little in a kind of squirming grimace. Disfigured as she was, the expression was profoundly sad. "No. It wasn't overwhelming for me," she said with something that sounded almost like regret. "But then the difference was, for me, I'd been training my whole life for that moment. I'd done it so many times, been trained and drilled and practiced, that when I figured out what had to be done I just..." She gave a shrug. "I just did it. I was a perfect machine of death and of blood and I did what I was made to do. But I think when your time comes to face those challenges, you'll know what to do. At the very least, if you don't, you'll at least know who to ask for help. Sometimes it's good to think of the whole picture, but sometimes you need to focus on the moment at hand, and overcoming one thing at a time. The rest will fall into place," she assured, reaching up to ruffle Darin's sandy hair a bit with a swipe of one hand.