Dearest Crumbcake,

The adamantine orb which men call Lunar has waxed and waned since I last dispatched an M.S.. The convalescence following my fever has been quite extended, my humors both exhausted and strangely elated by the miasmal cure. Were I not such the cool kipper, I would have been totally overcome by my carnal sick-chamber. I have used the time to much credit, however. You will find in this letter, and in my arrival, that the sinistral within me has been completely conquered and is under the yoke of Johnny Dexter. Indeed, I am now alternating my pens, port and aft, as you will, with hardly a detectable difference.

I am returning to Meadow's Rest immediately. My ship sails in two week's time. Still, I have collected samples which will be of great value to the Society, as well as additions to my own anthromenagerie. You will be pleased to hear that I have two lovely new arrows for our young Albert to pick his teeth with- both used to slay other men for their decorative skulls.

Love and warm kisses,