"I finally have an opportunity to talk to you, young man. You've been quite… absent for the past few days."
Yeren gestured at the cushion chair across him, pretending to busy himself with writing another poem of a particular woman that would not be named.
"Have I come at a bad time?"
Yeren looked down at his work and rubbed his brow.
"I was writing an important letter, but I suppose I can spare you a few minutes of my time."
Casmere smiled. "I remember those days when your father asked me to assist him with correspondence. May I have a look?"
He continued to scribble more lines on the parchment.
"Don't bother. It is a very private letter."
His uncle narrowed his eyes but dropped the subject.
"I understand that I am not your father, but I would like to offer you some advice." Casmere paused, waiting for a sign that Yeren was listening.
Sighing, he dropped the quill on the table and folded his hands.
