The ship cut steadily across the waters, its sails full as it followed the trade route towards its destination.
Waves rolled against the hull in a slow, rhythmic pattern, and the creak of timber carried through the deck as the vessel moved onward beneath the open sky.
Below deck, in a small private cabin, Adam sat alone at a small table. A single oil lamp hung above him, its warm light casting soft shadows across the wooden walls.
He held onto a feathered quill, and before him lay a sheet of parchment. There were so many things on his mind that he wanted to write down, but he didn't know where to begin.
A long time later, he let out a light chuckle as he shook his head ever so slightly.
And then, the quill in his hand began to dance across the paper.
'Dear old man,
'I hope you're doing well. I know it's been a long time since I last spoke to you. I'm not trying to make any excuses, but know that I was simply unable to.
