~ The Packing ~ pg 2

Fiora threw the bandages away and slipped her arm back into the dirty night dress. It really needed a good washing, and a needle and thread besides. An eye on the empty basin, the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. Perhaps she would not need the washtub this morning. Perhaps she could enjoy a proper cleansing instead. 

Grabbing her riding clothes in one hand and the lamp in the other, she hurried down the stairs and out the door. The brook was much colder in the early morning hours and she gasped from the shock of it as she waded in. With no sun to warm the water all moontick, it was downright frigid! She scrubbed at her blood on the nightdress, knowing the stains would never fully come out, but it would still be wearable. She would have to do something with it… because she was loathe to throw it out. Not knowing the depth of the gift Borris trusted in her with it.

In only a few ticks, Fiora shivered violently. She would not be able to relax her aches away today. What time she shortened in the water, though, she spent basking in the whirl of the wind long after she was dry. The wind had missed her – worried after her – and fretted as it examined the marks on her body. She gave it free reign until the sun finally started to warm the color of the sky then lowered her arms and changed there on the bank. Fiora folded the nightdress reverently even as she pulled at the restricting leather of her tunic. She would miss the free flow of air while they rode.

Everyone was awake by the time she reached the house and she left her snuffed lamp on the dining room table to approach Civyl. The Birchwoods kept an eye on her but they did not stop her. “Good morning,” she breathed as she circled him in an embrace. He responded much the same way he had the day before, standing stiff and unwelcoming under her touch. His coldness broke her heart anew. After all they had come through, she had taken the chance to believe that they were returning to their close relationship despite his lack of memory. Now… he was just as distant as he had been as a stranger. More so, for the deliberateness of it.

He pulled back, clearly uncomfortable by her nearness. Civyl faced the fire, closing her out of his own inner struggle, and addressed her in a formal way. “There are some things for you upstairs. You should go through them and pack for the journey. We leave before the sun passes the trees.”

The End

0 comments about this story Feed