I am sitting in an inn of no particular consequence, reflecting on your letter and thanking Dios that you and I have met and that our paths -- blades? -- have crossed.

The innkeeper has just brought me what passes for wine in this country and my writing quill makes soothing, reassuring sounds as it etches my words.

I want to hear more of your studies in the East. Yes, I do share some of your interest. I am always intrigued by how the Art has molded men in other cultures. And I am to understand that the Art of War holds very dear in the ways of the Samourai (pray forgive me spelling, what can I say? The world is so big and I am but an ignorant lout...).

So while I eagerly await your report, let me trouble you with the triflings of my meager thoughts. As you know, I, like you, received my introduction to the sword when I was young. Indeed, not unlike the whelps of which I bespoke in my last letter. The major difference being that it was my dear Abuela Maria who pushed me on to the path. She was a hard woman; very stern with my father when he was a boy. She knew kindness and was the embodiment of grace, but she stood her ground when her her mind was set.

Imagine my surprise when as a small boy returning home from a full morning's mischief with childhood friends, I learned that she had committed me to a year's apprenticeship with a mason, named Jose Alvarez. He was charged with completing an addititon to the family courtyard that was to be a tribute to my departed Abuelo Javier. It would appear unseemly for a child of nobles to toil under a common laborer, but mia Abuela knew what she was doing. Jose, though marked by fate to serve rather than be served, was a man of integrity and deeply lived honor. A life of working with stone had made him strong. He was not a large man, but beneath his shirt his body was as resolute and as dense as the element of which he knew so well. He taught me to be earnest, to be true in all things, to push my physical body beyond my perceived limits, and to develop the sensitivity to realize art in one's labor. He led by example, and later, when I had begun my serious devotion to the warrior's way, it was the ingrained memories of my time working with Jose and the lesson he taught me that forged my image of a warrior. Jose taught me how to find the body's "Golden Mean."

Ah reverie, it is good to be able to reflect now and again. Indeed, those of our profession owe much to hindsight.

Do you remember Jonathan Cobb? I had the honor of running into him last night. He is enjoying his station in Her Majesty's service and asked if I would be up for giving his squadron a lesson. He commands a somewhat elite troop. John has always been a closed man, cloak and dagger, if you can smoke my meaning. Nonetheless, he seemed very anxious for me to say yes. So I agreed, but between you and me, it didn't require very much in the way of convincing. Imagine that. It's been a long while since I have instructed a class; I fancy I shall enjoy it very much.

It is getting late, my friend, so I shall end this missive and post it quickly so that I can have your reply all the quicker. I will keep you informed of my doings and will remain your dear friend and brother,

-- de Verdin

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