Old Mara sat in her cushioned chair sucking lungfuls of smoke and smiled while she chewed at the briar root between her lips. She chewed and smiled and read the missive and smiled some more and saw it fit to remark to the dark, empty room, her words laced with venom. "Pray that the emperor culls every last one of these dogs, and the macecatchers next. I pray that he does." Bony hands folded the parchment with, placed it on the table beside her and drew up the blanket which sat on her lap. She closed her eyes and laid her pipe beside her, drifted away to a life that once was.