To My Honorable King:
'Tis not the place of a lowly soldier's wife to question the actions of great leaders such as yourself. The battles that rage across our lands are being fought to preserve the great life we know and love, from the cool waters of Loch Modan to the brisk, snow-capped peaks of Dun Morogh.
But the wars we wage in the name of preservation are to come at what cost? Upon the death of which fallen soldier do we realize that the very life we strive to save is slipping from us on the battlefield?Under how many swords and axes must we throw our future? Under how many feet of sodden soil must we bury our past?
It is not the place of the lowly soldier's wife to ask such questions.
Yet I write to you now as the lowly soldier's widow. My husband might have been one soldier in the ranks of thousands to you. To me he was the great Sully Balloo, father of my children and my one partner in this life.
Forgive me if my questions to you, oh great leader, ring inappropriate. But the dead cannot ask these questions for themselves....
Your Loyal Subject,