The tea towel and indeed a selection of the pastries (the ones which she doesn't eat herself in the interim) will see immediate use in her wooing of Valentine de Foncé's pocket book, and so is most appreciated. She says thank you in person when she next sees him.

And for a while—a series of days, or weeks, punctuated by sampling and closing Rifts, or division work, or missions spent briefly abroad—there is are no notes passed remarkable enough to warrant mention. And then, tucked alongside whatever he is using as a bookmark in whatever book he is currently toting around with him, appears an elaborately folded silhouette of a paper dog with two dot eyes and blacked in ears. It isn't meant to be unfolded; the obvious place to begin would be by pulling on its tail to free it from what appears to be a major fold, but all that accomplishes is causing the dog's mouth to open. It's a sweet, childish thing and comes with no accompanying note.