Swamped

You're not quite ready to go back. The captain's gone and reminded you of poor Tom Third.

"What would Third say if he were still here," you find yourself mumbling to a bird. "If he saw me holing up in my room for hours, and passing up meals. That's what I was like when I first got here, before he got me playing cards."

The crow just caws in response.

"I thought that was the start of something new. I was meeting people. Making friends... except, then we lost Third to the rain, and I started falling back into my old self. When someone wanted to talk, I'd make excuses. I thought they were good excuses, but now... Now I'm not so sure."

You let out a sigh.

"Funny that I'm only thinking of all this now, when he's been on my mind this whole time. I mean, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have even given the card tournament a second thought."

The crow caws again.

"Eighth's project is about him too, really. I think I knew that even before I looked at the notes. Maybe Eighth ought to tell that to people."

You glance at the crow. It strikes you that you haven't sent a letter home in a while.

"Well, long as I'm here," you say to yourself. You find a pen easily enough, the Postmaster's always got them around to mark things with. But paper isn't so readily available, and indeed, the first sheet you can find has some writing on it already.

Actually, you've seen this handwriting before. It's Captain Long's. And you can't help but notice the letter suddenly ends in the middle of a word - maybe he's been having trouble finishing it.

Well. You can tell that just with a glance. You're suddenly very curious about what it says. On the other hand, maybe it would be best to just give it back to him, or at least hide it better so someone else doesn't stumble on it.

What are you going to do?