[ He doesn't know why he's here. He knows names, and what he has been told about those names. There's not enough material with which to actually compose a letter.
What would they want to hear? What would he even say?
Sighing despondently, he picks up the empty sheets of paper he was working with, along with a pen, and goes to sit by himself in the sand away from the water. Someone who needed the space could have it. ]