Cuan, der 30. Juni.
Lieber Chris,
I told you about our old matron Garbh and her current pregnancy, right? She gave birth to four healthy cubs yesterday, our venerable Lady! Mother and children are well and they are currently sleeping. Our Old Lady still has it in her!
Cladhaire got into his typical scrapes again, that lad can not let any fishmonger alone, I tell you, and I had to bail him out again, but this time, it was a real coup de main. I would sign him up with the Rangers by now, if they would take Foxes!
But on to something even better: Remember when I told you about the Fox Breeder Conference in Dumhach, in the Oileánra-Archipelago? Mister Folaíochta and I are going to travel there with a bunch of our lads and lassies, and he told me, that I could invite you, if you want.
The Conference starts on the 14th of July, in Dumhach. I think, that there's a ferry running from Nienhagen to Dumhach. Someone, who you should recognize will be waiting for you. ; )
Mit Liebe,
Cel
P.S.: Pack a swimsuit! ; )
Dumhach Ferry Harbour, Dumhach, Oileánra-Archipelago.
It was a beautiful day in the tropical climate of the Oileánra-Archipelago, the sun shining above azure blue oceans, the breeze not too strong, but strong enough to play with the hair and to allow gliding birds to glide easily.
And many of the avians endemic to the Archipelago could be seen making their circles in the sky.
Dumhach itself laid at the end of a small bay, where around two thousand people lived in a small city mostly occupied with fishing, boatbuilding and tourism, the Seaplane Port busy as ever.
The waters, however were even shallower then outside, so the Ferry Harbour for the larger ships was at the mouth of the bay, where they could either take up quarters in hotels near the port or continue there trips by the many means available, from boats to the city to horse-drawn carriage, there was even a small train line going back and forth.
At the quay, there were a few people waiting, from dock workers to hotel people, but most remarkable of them all was a vulpine, grey furred, with black and red highlights, as well as blue eyes shining like the sea before him. He was a Little Black Fox.
By sheer coincidence, his mistress had packed a t-shirt of the guy he was waiting for into her bag when she departed and had given it to him to have his smell - he was to lead his mistress' friend to her. He sat onto a barrel, a white collar around his neck with a small message fitted underneath it.
He, like all of his kind, grinned perpetually, as it seemed, as he watched the ferry ease into the harbour. His mistress' friend would recognize him and his kind, he had been sent quite a few fotographs of them with and without Celina, he knew Pluise the Plush-Fox.
It would be alright.
The game, as they said, was a-paw.