Jonathan glanced out the window anxiously. The heavy rain had obstructed his view quite a bit, yet he could tell a large package sat on the porch.
“Winnie! There’s a package!” Jonathan’s nose was pink. Winnie wiped her hands on her short apron, and brought the box inside.
“Who is it from, Jonathan? It’s addressed to you…” He uncharacteristically grabbed it from her hands.
“Sorry, terribly excited, you see.” He smiled apologetically. The box contained one or more of the following: a book in a dead language, a notebook filled with writing in said language, and a small tin lunchbox.
“There’s no return address,” Jonathan stated wistfully after his treasures were spread out on the floor. Winnie flipped through a notebook.
“Don’t tell me you can read this…”
“No, but I understand it. My dreams are in Pretin.” He seemed preoccupied.
“Pretin?” Winnie’s nose wrinkled.
“It’s the dead language of the sea. Only The Ocean speaks it, now.” Jonathan took the notebook away from her. “Terribly exciting.”