As I sit in our train, riding towards the far north, the sun setting over the lonely fields, I think of you. It has torn my heart to leave you behind, knowing not when I shall forsake the cold wilderness of the harsh lands that await me, so I can feel your gentle touch once more. It pains me to think of you alone, sitting by the fire in the house we once shared. I hope that my letters will give you some comfort, and let you rest assured that my love for you remains unquestioned.
I know your friends will talk, and say that I am but a foolish boy, who prefers adventures over the comfort of love. They will tell you to forget about me, to leave me to my mad musings. They will tell you to move on, and look for someone who will value your company as he should. Yet I do, my Love. I do.
But I cannot remain next to you while the north doth call. I cannot stay by the warmth of our hearth, craving dreams without fighting for them. For such a man would not be worthy of you, my Love.
So I have left, and fly over the rails that point toward the never-setting sun. And when I come back, my Love, I shall be a man that can stand by your side his head held high.