Six months to the day. My morning began with a small brandy and bagel in your honor.
Poor Flora is still sick with a heavy cold though she tried to make me think otherwise. I find the child getting dressed in my coat, ready for a day out in the snowy realm of Niflheim. Of course, the troublemaker has grabbed my thin Spring coat instead of the proper ice jacket. I realize she had grabbed the former simply because her grubby paws could reach it in my tall closet.
So cute. I sat the lady down in bed and calmly explained that she must get better or else she will die a terrible freezing death. She nodded, smiling at silly daddy and drifted off to bed.
I decided to take the day off from studying the creatures to the West and moved toward the chores that needed to be done here. Cleaning took me five hours longer than it should simply because I started sorting papers from past expeditions. This became an endeavor on its own and the hours wasted away. Not that I am sorry for it; I must begin my book preparation eventually and this "Fall Cleaning" may be the step in the right direction. With the house sorted, I decided to clean up around the exterior homestead.
Cold and wet, I brought home freshly picked Snowdrops (which look like Tethys Tulips, save for their albino petals) for the sick lady. I found Flora awake and smiling. She took the flowers graciously and asked so very politely (and urgently!) for a small vase to keep them alive. I quickly bathed and began preparing dinner - Spiced Moss. Together, we ate the food quickly and I was happy to see Flora gaining an appetite.
Our conversation started with Flora's dreams (one about a Ferret that spoke in rhymes immediately grasped my imagination) and moved to what she would like for her birthday. Without hesitation the child wanted to move.
"Move?" I asked her. She explained that for her 7th birthday she'd like to see the world. Or rather, she specified, one that was the frozen tundra of Niflheim. I suddenly saw a bit of myself, excited about the unseen territories around us and yearning to venture forth to the unknown. The idea of moving was something I had toyed with like a tin windup doll - I knew that my expedition was coming to a close and our next destination would need to be decided. I ran to the cupboards (spilling Moss when I got up unexpectedly, causing dear Flora to laugh) and retrieved my maps. After much debate, we decided that we should travel to Deucalion, where she was born. Timing the trip in my head, I told her that the soonest we could leave was in three weeks time.
One week to finish my research.
One week to prepare for the voyage and goodbyes.
One week to travel to port.
Since we would be traveling across the sea to the Inner Continent, I explained that we wouldn't arrive to the Great City until close to the end of next month. Flora didn't care, and thus, neither did I. The sudden rush of excitement allowed for time to pass far more freer and I realized sick Flora was awake at high moon. I ushered her off to bed, read her a story (Golderwhit's Gold) and promised we would go to town in the morning to send word to Port, chartering an Ocean Zeppelin.
Flora fell asleep, I washed the dishes and quickly made a list of what I needed to pick up tomorrow morning. I closed the night with this entry.
Sincerely,
Nicodemus Thatcher
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