Beloved Penelope,

 I am writing to you although I have no hope of this reaching you.

 We are lost.  A storm and a raging wind arose soon after we set sail, and we have been blown off-course.  The lands we see are unfamiliar and dark; the seas toss us about like a toy of the gods.  When the waves do quiet themselves, the wind disappears and our sails go slack; the ship sits like a statue on the glass of the sea.

 Should the little traveler I’ve placed on this card fly this to you, make an offering to the gods on my behalf so I might return to you.

--Odysseus                            

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