Ilsa smiled. She liked hearing the news direct anyway. Letters became difficult to receive when one didn't stay still, and often when she finally returned to the rented postbox in Germany it would have eight months of letters waiting for her to read. So much news stuffed into tiny paper packets. They became a part of her journey though, Lena's voice with her on trains and buses, dozing in the front seat of a truck that had picked her up on the side of a Russian road, Lena's handwriting pressed against her breast.
"Hello Florian," Ilsa smiled, untangling herself from Lena for long enough to wrap her arms around her brother. "It's so good to see you both."