Roland sets the paper down on the sand, eyes still glued on the page he was preoccupied with. "Suit yourself. I'll leave it here, in case you change your mind."

And sure, he was aware that Tidus was trying to peek a look. It didn't stop him from writing though, the words coming out as natural as his own breathing. He couldn't be stopped, even when Tidus just outright asked him. In any other place and time, Roland would have just told him it was something special; something from his heart, without the hiding and the pretense. Roland played the evasion game well. But in Jema'grethy, Roland also found himself stripped of his right to decide. Consent was taken from him the moment the island, or their kidnappers, or whoever magical being was behind their predicament, invaded his closely guarded secrets and flashed it for unwilling eyes. The same thing could be said for the man whose memories he had seen without choice. It was a violation of the highest order.

So he throws caution to the wind. He is prepared to take it back on his own terms, whatever it is was mined from the recesses of his soul.

The pen slows, but it keeps going, line after line. Steady and sure, Roland responds, "They're letters, updates from me. What's been going on, and that I'm always thinking about them."

"One's going out to Evan and the crew in Evermore. The other one - " Roland doesn't miss a swirl nor a flourish in his penmanship. "- will hopefully make its way to Earth. To my son."

Or what's left of it.