Happy Birthday

My Dearest Broomhilda,

I know your birthday is coming, and my heart feels heavy like a mountain stone knowing I cannot be there to celebrate with you. I am so sorry, little one. I hope the clan gives you a feast worthy of the light of the Krastovs.

The high council sent me away so that I could learn to control the storm inside me, and so far it has been anything but easy. The mountains here are tall, but not as proud as ours. The few forests that remain are beautiful, they remind me of home.

Something is changing within me broomhilda, this rage i feel is different. I always thought that my rage is my greatest weapon but recently it feels as though it rejects me. That voice in my head that always tells me to push through and punch through my problems, your voice, is quieter, and I do not know if I like it. When I can hear the voice, the result is a connection to my surroundings on a level I have never felt before. Maybe this land is teaching me how to grow things instead of just knocking them down.

I wrote a poem for you, it's stupid I know but you always loved the poem books i would read to you:

The mountain’s heart, a stone inside,

A storm of rage I could not hide.

My only song was angry sound,

of fists that struck the frozen ground.

But you, my light, a gentle gleam,

The quiet truth within the dream.

Your voice, the one that made me strong,

Showed me where I truly belong.

Now something's changed, the storm is low,

It sinks to where the small things grow.

My fury feeds a budding shoot,

A silent promise from a root.

So I will learn this different way,

To earn my place and come home one day.

The mountain learns to stand up tall,

And wait to answer to your call.

I am doing this so I can finally come home and be the person you deserve, Never forget that you are my light.

Happy Birthday.

Your Uncle,

Peggle