Postcards: Thanks a million!

Image of a medieval fish wearing an Elizabethan collar and holding some foliage in the arm just in front of its dorsal fin.
Dear Aldrovandi Veterinary Clinic,
Thank you for operating on my fish. I was at my wit’s end with his soliloquizing; his rhymes were slanted at best and he was shaky on iambic pentameter. He’s quiet now, and the collar you provided keeps him from mouthing at the stitches. But they’ve opened up nonetheless—and an arm sprouted from the incision! Is this an expected side effect? He’s taken to grabbing whatever he can get his hand on and brandishing it like a sword, guarding it like treasure, or proffering it to other fish like a bouquet. He really is quite a strange fish. Any advice would be appreciated!
Best,
Philippa
Image of scale versions of the Kelpie statues in Scotland—large metal horses. A man is touching the snout of one of them.
Dearest Wizard,
It’s almost time. I couldn’t have done it without your spellwork to weld animating incantations into the metal. I’ve been tinkering with the beauties, building variations on a theme. My enemies think the two in the water are the largest. They think those and the “scale models” are the sum total of my “art.” No one knows how many kelpies I’ve raised. Gorgeous metal monsters of all sizes, who shall soon rampage and rid this island of my foes… and any unlucky bystanders. Consider this your warning: leave Scotland immediately.
With love and gratitude,
The Artist

Postcards: Learning through Travel

Image of the head and torso of a skeleton, among other decorative bones.
Dear Liam,
For one moment, I knew the meaning of life. I learned it in a crypt. I went as a tourist: go see the ancient bones, weird art made by monks in god’s name. But then the lights went out. Sort of. I could still see. But the other tourists were gone, along with everything modern. It was the kind of quiet that’s loud, the only sound the creak of a skeleton turning his skull to me. He told me the secret that only bones can know. I carry it inside me now, deep inside, but I’ll only know it again once my flesh rots away. Isn’t that oddly comforting?
Yours eternally,
Cole
Image of a long-horned unicorn in a very small pen.
Dear Elizabeth,
Evolution is fascinating! Prize stags’ racks get smaller. Elephants are born without tusks. Same with unicorns.
Today, at the Queen’s Bestiary, we met the oldest living unicorn. 700 years old and horn at least 4 feet long! The younger ones, captured in the last few centuries, just have dainty twee little horns. Today we learned—fun fact—unicorns simply refuse to breed in captivity. Yet they live forever. Poor things.
One wonders what would happen if they mated in the wild. Over generations, would their horns grow long again? Or are those genes lost for good?
Wouldn’t it be interesting if a visitor left a pen unlatched, and some horny unicorns escaped into the nearby horse pastures? For science?
—A Scientist

Postcards: Transformations II

Image of a man wearing only shorts swan diving off a boat, with glaciers in the background
Dear Allison,
The giant seabirds of the Arctic are truly phenomenal. Early in our study, we woke to a thump that shook the whole boat. When we got on deck, instead of an eagle or an albatross, or even a walrus, we found a stunned, nearly naked man. He wouldn’t tell us how he came to be on our boat; he just demanded fish (we gave him a can of tuna) and hit on Bella for a while. Then he said “ciao” and leaped off the stern. We all gasped, thinking of the icy water below. But feathers sprouted from the man’s arms and torso and he soared, disappearing into the white of the sky.
That’s just one of the magnificent new species we’ve catalogued.
Wish you were here!
Dr. Pauline Frost, Ornithologist
Image of a wood-carved cat grinning with human-looking teeth
Dear Hattie,
We followed a new Sphinx legend to a northern land—found it, but it’s quite mad. It grinned with this manic set of un-catlike teeth. It asked Pete to solve a riddle, but we weren’t clear on the stakes—this Sphinx wasn’t guarding anything, and we weren’t questing. The riddle was nonsense, stuff about slithy toves and manxome foes, so of course Pete got it “wrong.” Can there even be a right answer to utter rubbish? The Sphinx bared her human again, and took her prize—Pete’s right hand. She rubbed it greedily against her left paw, muttering “14 more suckers to go.” On the plus side, Pete has a cat’s paw now and it’s pretty darn cute.
See you soon!
Alice