She frowns at the once-a-map, studying it a moment longer before pulling the words closer, and holding the scrap closer to the candle so she can read over the words better. Herian reads them over, mouthing them out in a silent whisper as she tries to parse the letter, and what meaning there might be in it.

Who is it to? Or who is it from? "How many people knew about this place?" she murmurs to herself, another question that the letter calls to mind, as she looks for any other correspondence that might need to go back to the Inquisition.