After Mrs. Margie turned fifty, the soup gradually became saltier, and on days when the cooks below her slack off, the potato or carrot pieces become unusually large.

I have to mash and mash carrot pieces too big to fit in my mouth with the tip of my spoon before swallowing them. But who would understand my predicament?

When I was young, I complained that the food was too salty and was only ridiculed as a ‘picky young master.’ Although they—that is, my father and brothers—were just joking.

I still can’t forget my brothers’ faces as they twisted their lips saying, ‘Are you pretending to be the young master?’ I was being too sensitive. It was also rude to say such things to someone who had put effort into making food.

So, you’re not the only one who’s been called ‘picky.’ I sincerely apologize for hurting you by relaying Miss Aila’s words.

I never thought the person in question would see it. As a token of apology, I’ll give you one chance to reproach me to my face as a ‘picky brat.’ Please use it well.

Shall we talk about something more pleasant?

I was very happy that you brought up the topic of ‘Datios.’ I’m the only one in our village who knows about that artist! This is not an empty exaggeration.

My second brother even got me a catalog of Datios’s work as a birthday present. So I know all the anecdotes you mentioned about her.

While reading your letter, I also re-read the catalog I had kept in a drawer. I prefer the paintings she created in her later years much more than those she painted during her three marriages.

The best is her unfinished work with rough lines that were never refined. A work that will never be completed. A chair and two books, an old shawl and a fireplace.

Many scholars speculate that it was her stepson’s room. Even with just the lines, so different from her usual style, you can feel the affection.

I wish you could see it too. I want to look at the same things as you and share those impressions. I’d like to lend you the catalog, but sadly, the delivery person in the painting doesn’t carry anything heavier than a few sheets of letter paper.

He’s a person who quickly becomes angry when the paper count increases by even a couple of sheets.

I want to visit the art gallery in the capital too. The capital is very far, and Kasoche’s geography is extremely rugged. My mother and father look at me like some reckless colt.

They’re certain I’d cause trouble if I went alone. Breaking centuries-old artifacts or getting involved in violent incidents. Well, that’s probably the extent of their imagination.

The period when I would climb trees and fall down passed ten years ago. Even then, I only got a nosebleed and didn’t break a single bone!

My older brother learned work by following my mother to other regions when he was younger than I am now, and my second brother even lived in a dormitory at the academy in the capital.

Am I that unreliable? Though they’re not the type to cherish their children excessively, my mother and father treat me like a child standing on thinly frozen lake.

I’m almost sixteen now. My older brother says, ‘It’s because you lack trustworthiness,’ as if it’s my fault, but well…… I just feel wronged because I can’t know everything about my brothers’ childhoods.

They don’t even feel sorry that their youngest brother will spend his entire life cooped up in Kasoche. Though my brothers probably don’t think of me that way in the first place.

They say what’s boring about riding horses and roaming the mountains. But it’s not simply a matter of range of activity. If I don’t do this much, every day would be exactly the same.

In that sense, village parties aren’t bad, no, they seem quite good. Of course, it would depend on who participates. When adults are involved, everything tends to become dull.

They giggle among themselves while repeating old stories they’ve told more than ten times. Enjoying themselves while completely leaving me out. If I were a bit older, I wouldn’t join such ‘parties’ at all, like my brothers. But without even that, it’s obvious I’d be even more bored.

What are Iota’s parties like?

Miss Aila didn’t give any explanation. I wonder if it’s like Kasoche where all the villagers gather together, or if they collect food made by each household and pour aged wine.

Kasoche makes wine every year, does Iota do that too? Probably not. Kasoche and Iota are the most distant places in the kingdom, even more so than foreign countries.

Suddenly, I remembered there’s a map in my mother’s office and went to check it. Behind the desk where my mother mainly reviews documents, there’s a large map of the kingdom drawn. From Kasoche to Iota. It’s far enough that you’d need to stretch your arms from end to end.

I newly realized how small the place I stay in is, and in contrast, how big and high the mountains surrounding the village are.

Well, so, the emotions that trouble you—though I’m not sure if I should simply assume they trouble you—would also look small and tiny if viewed from very far away. So, perhaps, next time you feel suffocated, how about looking at yourself from very, very far away?

Sorry. I don’t even know what I’m saying. Since it’s a waste to rewrite the letter from the beginning, please filter it as you read.

On the twentieth day when lush green leaves have bloomed,

Wishing for your peace and well-being, Carol

P.S. The flowers will bloom in full soon. I want to ask if you know these flowers, but I realize I don’t know their name. They have yellow petals about the size of a thumbnail arranged in a circle. The dried petals are often brewed as tea when catching a cold.]

[To Carol

You fell from a tree and didn’t break a single bone! Are you deliberately trying to make me jealous and envious? But I won’t envy you so easily.

To envy you, I’d have to envy everyone with the tenacity to climb trees and the physical strength to head toward the tallest tree outside the house!

Since I can’t live envying everyone in the world, I won’t write expressions praising your sturdiness. That would be too long and tedious anyway.

I’ll also skip lamenting about being cooped up all the time today. It’s not a particularly pleasant topic, and it would only be awkward for you, who has nothing to do with it, to hear.

I don’t enjoy situations where the other person can’t find words and feels uncomfortable. It would only make both me and that person embarrassed. People who visit occasionally pity me so easily.

I hope you won’t do that. Though this might completely contradict what I said earlier, what I tell you isn’t meant to gain your sympathy. It’s just a clear, unfiltered listing of facts.

So you don’t need to scramble to find expressions of comfort. It’s better to read your reply quickly. But the map story wasn’t bad.

The more letters we exchange, the stronger my guess becomes.

You really are different from Aila.

I mean, you’re sensitive enough to consider others’ feelings one by one. I’m not being sarcastic. Sincerely……

Mrs. Margie is someone your family hired for money, right? Then can’t you talk about whether the food is salty or sweet? It’s not like you threw the salt container at the kitchen while screaming, that level of reaction is normal.

It’s neither picky nor arrogant.

Our house isn’t wealthy enough to hire a cook, but if such a thing happened, Aila would have been the first to rise up, I think? She would have gently hinted, ‘It’s a bit salty today.’

As for me, I would have put down my spoon from the moment the food didn’t agree with me.

Do you understand, Carol? To be called peculiar, you need to be at least this level. It’s not a boast. Being easygoing is good. But rather than eating food that doesn’t suit you and getting sick, it’s better to drink blended fruit instead of soup with improper seasoning.