As Fin stumbled up the stairs to Rowan’s apartment, tired from the revels of the night before, he nearly tripped over the small scuffed and slightly crushed box resting on the “welcome mat,” as his friend called it. Scooping it up he carried it into the small, mostly tidy living room and tossed it onto the “loveseat.” As it rolled to the side, he recognized the series of English characters that made up his own name. Their spelling of it anyway. It looked undeniably strange that way and he found it utterly baffling that anyone would know where he lived, much less deliver a parcel. Those usually came in Rowan’s name and she’d hand anything intended for him over. Maybe Addy had dropped it off, he could call her about it once his head stopped swimming. But it had piqued his curiosity enough that he had no interest in waiting to open it and he grabbed it in a single fluid motion before dropping unceremoniously onto the soft padding of his couch bed. Crinkling and tearing accompanied the less than careful way in which he opened the box.

Roughly carved and assembled wood greeted him from within, a box within a box. A box within a box with perhaps another box inside. He didn’t know. Despite the best efforts of his prying fingers he could find no lid. With a quiet frustrated grumble he shook it. Clearly there was something inside, teasing him with its mysteries. Maybe twisting it would work? Bah. On the verge of tossing it aside with the intention of returning to it later, he heard a soft click as a panel sank inward and slid aside. The apparent crudeness of its workmanship belied the intricacy of its mechanisms and Fin pursued it with renewed interest, poking, prodding, and sliding until it cracked open, willing at last to give up its secrets.

Paper, yellowed with age and carefully folded around some small object awaited him within. Granting this sheet more caution than he had the brown paper in which he’d found the package, he gently undid the meticulous folds to reveal a tiny clay frog figurine. A delighted, barking laugh shot forth as he picked it up. Thick lips turned downward into a disgruntled frown below a pair of amusingly bulbous eyes. The creature’s round body was encircled by a set of goofy, thin arms, hands balled into tiny froggy fists. Small clay protuberances served as its fat little thighs and Fin adored the ridiculous objet d’art beyond all reason. Day uncharacteristically brightened, he carefully set the figure down and stared futilely at the letter. At least that’s what he assumed it was. It was what letters looked like on television, anyway.

His brow furrowed as he stared at the characters on the page. Bloody English. Even with what little he could sound out there was no way of knowing if he was pronouncing it correctly until he said it to someone. It might as well be enciphered. Maybe Rowan could read it. Until then, he had his new friend to keep him company.