A letter discovered by A. P. Snodgrass, US Postal Service, in the Nostaligia mailbox with no address on the envelope (stamp neatly pressed in the upper right hand corner). The handwriting is signifigantly different from Nicolas' usual.

Dear L,

I have a thousand words for you; they're from a language unspoken for centuries. I keep them in my mouth under the thickest part of my tongue. I will make them plain for you, sound them out so that you can feel your way through the darkest, most indecipherable noises.

You are not to speak them.

You are to keep this sweet sleeping language in your bedside stand until I come for the three of us.

I will come to the sliding glass doors that lead to your patio and press my face to the glass where you will find me and slide back the doors.

"White wine?" You will ask.
"No." I'll respond but I won't mean it.