[i]Father,
Even though I began my journey a week ago, every morning I still wake up with that nervous pit in my stomach. I never realized how different it would feel, to be away from the place I hadd lived my entire life. Even so, I harbor no regrets for my decision, I wanted to explore when I left home and I see no reason to change my mind now. Yes, I admit that it has been more difficult than I had anticipated, but I'm not about to let a couple of mere inconveniences stop me. I just wanted to write to at least let you know that I have made it safely to the next village. I'll try to send you something every week to let you know of my progress, and by the end of next month I'll be home, a wiser man I hope.
Your son,
Cyril[/i]

After checking the letter he'd written once more, Cyril folded the parchment over itself and walked up to the counter. The man standing behind the counter lifted his head, adjusting his glasses to look at the younger man in front of him. Cyril offered a polite smile before pointing to the candle and wax beside the man at the desk, "Can I send a letter?"

"Certainly," the old postal worker reached over, with trembling hands, to carefully move the lit candle and the sealing wax closer to Cyril. Taking care to not let the molten wax drip off the brass cup at the base of the candle. Cyril opened his hand to accept the stick of red-dyed sealing wax from the worker when he offered it. Cyril immersed the stick of wax in the little flame licking at the end of the candle's wick, and quickly dripped the melting red liquid onto the letter, sealing it shut as it cooled and hardened.

The worker carefully lifted the sealed letter, looking to where the letter was addressed to be sent, "Well, young man, postage will be just a 5 copper to ship that close."

Cyril nodded and reached into his pocket pulling out a handful of copper coins, laying them with a metallic clatter onto the wooden countertop. Cyril smiled, "Thanks, you have a good day."

"You too," the postal worker agreed, tipping his head.

With that, Cyril turned around and departed from the postal office, opening the door to step outside. He placed his hands into his pockets while he stepped off the wooden porch. If everything went as planned, he'd stay a few weeks in this village before departing for the next. He'd get a chance to find a quick job to pay for his own way around, get a chance to write, then move on to the next place and repeat. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened his tie, wiping his brow when the sound of a shrill screech seemed to echo through the village.

At first, Cyril was simply frozen; he'd never heard such an unearthly noise before, and wasn't sure what to think of it. While a small part of him was afraid, telling him to get away. Such fearful thoughts were silenced though, when curiosity instead filled his mind; he wanted, no he absolutely [i]had[/i] to know what that noise was.