The door to Shifu's room being firmly shut, Crane decided that his time was best spent far, far, far away from whatever fresh hell was being cooked up. To that end, Crane made his way to the students' barracks, surveying each room until he came upon Tigress's. He tapped on the wooden door with his foot. "Tigress? Are you in there?"

There was a sound of shuffling in the room before the screen slid back to reveal Tigress' form. "Crane," she greeted curtly, but not impolitely. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I delivered your letter," Crane said. "He seemed to appreciate it."

Tigress face relaxed as she let out a relieved breath, not quite a whisper but not loud enough to be a sigh. "Thank you." Her mouth twitched, as if wanting to say mare, but lacked any words to do so.

Crane continued on in her stead, taking off his hat and fishing through it. "He also wrote back." Finally finding the scroll tied up with red string, he held it out in offering.

"He. . ." Tigress looked at the letter for a while, almost disbelievingly. She gingerly took it into her paws, as if it would crumble to dust the moment she touched it. For extra confirmation, she ran her thumb over the paper. She looked back at Crane, shooting an emotional smile. "Thank you. Truly. If. . . you ever think of something that I can do in return. . "

Crane held up a claw. "Don't worry about it. Seriously."

Tigress paused, before nodding gratefully.

"Well, actually. . ." Crane said, thinking twice. "You could start by telling me how exactly you two know each other."

"Simple," Tigress said. "We spent the night there, and I wanted to repay their generosity."

"No no no, ' Crane said, shaking his head. "That's how we know the Pings. What I'm curious of is how the Pings know you. And Master Oogway, for that matter."

Tigress' arms fell to her sides. "How. . . do you know about. . .?"

"Master Oogway mentioned that he and Mr. Ping play checkers sometimes. Also, Mr. Ping actually wrote Shifu a letter that has him shut up in his room, trying to write a meaner response." Crane then added, mostly to himself, "It wouldn't surprise me if he tries to invoke the Tenshu army to haunt them."

Tigress sighed, paw palming her forehead. "Crane, please tell me that those two aren't actually going to start feuding."

"Well, you tell me, is Mr. Ping the type to budge?"

Tigress only had stare at Crane levelly in answer.

Crane sighed. "Of course not. So, wait, you actually do know the Pings?"

Tigress shifted her gaze. "Yes. . . It's a bit of a long story."

"But you will tell me?" Crane asked hopefully. "I don't mind being your mail-stork, but I would like to know what's actually going on."

Tigress paused, before allowing herself a small smile. "I suppose that's fair enough." She held up her letter. "But not until after I've had time to read this."

Crane nodded. "That's fair."

The moment was broken by a cheerful voice "Hello, students." Both Tigress and Crane nearly jumped out of their skins at Oogway calling from right around the door.

"Master Oogway," Tigress greeted coolly.

"What brings you here?" Crane asked.

"Merely seeing how things are going," Oogway said. "Truthfully, I was going to warn the students to steer clear of Shifu's study for a while, but you seem to know that already. I was going to offer a spot of tea, and perhaps a game of weiqi, but I see you are busy enough."

Crane held up his claw. "I was actually just heading out. I've been meaning to practice my weiqi." Crane turned back to Tigress as he left. "Enjoy your reading."

Tigress watched the two of them walk out of the room and adjoining hall, before she closed her doors with the intent to do just that.

She walked over to her own bedroll, sitting on it cross-legged, whereupon she discovered again the difference between intent and action. Her paws cradled the letter gently as she set it down in front of her. It was a tiny little thing, really. Just an ordinary piece of paper tied untidily with red string. A few moments passed where she simply sat and stared. It wasn't disappearing, and she wasn't waking up, ergo she should have no fear of it disintegrating.

She should also, she reflected, have no fear of ink blotches on paper, especially when they were handed to her by two friends, both of which were among the sweetest souls she had met. (Then again, the list of people she knew on a personal level could probably be counted on both paws.) Crane's words came back to her, citing that Po's initial reaction to her letter, at least, was positive enough.

Tigress took a deep breath. That was enough stalling. Whatever contents the letter held, Po had taken the time to communicate in a way that could reach her. To hesitate any more would be disrespectful. So, with steeled gaze, her paws reached back for the paper, and slid the knot loose.

Another deep breath gave Tigress the strength to actually open the letter, revealing orange brushstrokes in rushed calligraphy.

Hey Tigress

Tigress huffed. Two words in, and it already sounded like Po.

I'm super bummed about your master. And I'm really bummed that I can't cook for you right now. But thanks for telling me at least. I would have gone nuts worrying if you didn't. I don't have much time, since my dad is writing. . . (Tigress paused as the next few words were smeared over in what was likely Po trying to find the right words, which struck her as just the tiniest bit out of character. At least coming from him. Clearly, the written word caused the panda to think about what he said.) . . . Something that I don't think needs writing. I don't think he likes your master much. But I wanted to send you this, so that way it still feels like a conversation. If you ever want to talk, just pick up a brush! I'll have a reply as soon as I can. Or maybe I can write something, I don't know; My dad's starting to laugh to himself in a really scary way, so I'll end it here. Write me back whenever!
-Po

Tigress looked over the letter. Then looked over it again. Only on a third and careful rereading did the reality of it settle. 

Po was not mad. Nor was he disappointed, at least not in her. Po wanted to talk. Po wanted Tigress's words, and was willing to hear them in whatever form she could provide.

Tigress' breath hitched, shook, before letting itself out in a choked sigh, as if it couldn't decide what sound her throat wanted to make. Her face was lifting, relaxing, yet her vision was blurring. Her paws pressed the letter into her chest, as if to smear the words directly onto her heart. Tigress' lungs had finally settled on laughter, interspersed with deep sniffs, as the method of release.

As her lungs settled and she wiped her eyes, she held out the letter for one more time. "Thank you," she told it. This letter, she had decided, was something worth keeping. Right above where she kept her dominos, she placed the new treasure.

For the first time in nearly two months, one of which spent in recovery and the other three weeks away from comfort, it felt like she could walk again.