Delivering Weird News

[Lissa]

A day and a half later after Kel'dan's talk with Sadhric... Solomon recieved a message. Written in Mando'a.


Hey Sol.


Hope this message finds you in good health and good moods. I'm probably the last person in the Galaxy you want to hear from. I don't expect a response... Seeing as you're next of kin to Trander, I thought you should know. There's been a lot of decisions and realizations for me these past few days. I've decided to return Medren and Marian to their true father. I hesitate to take them from the only home they've ever known-- but they will be safer in the long run and will be better taught to deal with their Sensitivity. Being a father myself, I understand how much it would hurt not to be a father to your own children. To know what kind of sacrifice he's been making to be a part of their lives and not be their father... That's all about to change. I've arranged it with Jeryndi to come here and stay in Kel'dabe for a while to make this transition easier. As I said. Seeing as you're next of kin... I thought you should know. Take care of yourself and your family.



By my hand,

Kel'dan.

[Bobbi]

With his jaw locked in a tight, thin lipped frown Solomon read the message. The last thing he needed right then was this. There was no compassion, or sympathy, shared as he read the words. There was no love lost. The sentiment shared by Kel’dan in the message he’d sent was one of apathy for Solomon Tekal. Not that Solomon didn’t care for the kids, he just didn’t care for the message, or the contents Kel’dan had taken the time to write and send.

I'm the last person you probably want to hear from.

There was one person only who could claim that spot, but the list behind that one person was rather short. Ker'dan's brother was a very close second.

Returning....to their father...preparations have been made....I know how it must feel....

It was a quiet moment that had found him pausing to read the message that had been received some time before. A short lived moment that came in the rolling wake of preparations being made. It was someone else's problem, some one else's responsibility.

A quick hand saw the message archived, locked away from eyes that might see it before he was ready. It was just as easy that a quick hand could erase it, but no. He was going to hang onto this for a while.

No response would be sent back. There was no need. Silence would be its own kind of message.