Maea
You think killing is hard?
Try healing something. That is hard.
Try healing something. That is hard.
Maea took her time as she traveled up from Jack Tar Landing. Flowerbirth progressed the melting of snow and budding of leaves a little more each day, and in some sheltered groves there were indeed flowers blooming among the grasses. Birdsong accompanied her everywhere she went, singing of home and hope and new beginnings. Travelling past the Peekabo rise, up along the Levinsward and across the bone bridges, she was reminded over and over again of how familiar yet foreign her homeland had become. The winding rivers, the multitude of islands where once fields had been, the scattered ruins and foundations of farms whose tenants she couldn't quite recall the names of - it all whispered to her still, of times long gone. The idea of leaving this all behind for Torchline's evergreen paradise was heart wrenching. Especially painful was it when she took a detour past her childhood home. The remnants of the house looked even more bedraggled than last Leafchange, and though the orchard looked to be blooming soon, Maea could see the signs of decline in the trees. The way the branches grew wild, how last year's harvest had been left largely to rot amid the roots, spreading disease in the form of brown dots on leaves and fruit both. No one had turned sheep out to graze the fields, no one had gone with pigs to search for acorns and walnut, and where her grandmother's garden had been, only weeds grew in abundance.
Coming home was a bittersweet feeling. Ophelia wasn't there, so the cottage echoed empty and cold, with a scent of damp lingering in the walls. Her spare clothes, neatly folded into a cedar chest, retained the folds even after Maea hung them up to air out, and the scent of wood and mothballs seemed a permanent feature now.
How long had she been gone, really? Was it more than a few weeks? It felt like an age, and like yesterday, and as she sat down by her desk to pen a letter for Danta, she found it hard to keep track of time.
It was a simple letter in the end, expressing her regret over what happened between her and Asta, requesting a chance to meet him so that they could, to put it simply, talk. If it was possible, at a time and place of his choosing... Preferably she would have explained more, but that felt like the cheap and easy way out. And above all, she was done making excuses for herself.
To her surprise, she actually received a reply before the day was over. Bracing herself, she threw on a cloak against the chill evening wind and made the long trek into the Inner Quarter. It felt like a different city from the one she had left. Most of the snow was gone from the streets, and flowers were appearing in garden beds and pots. The wind smelled sweetly of cooked meals and wood smoke, as people were returning home and settling in for dinner behind lit windows.
As for Maea, she turned her steps towards the Temple. Walking up the stairs, she pushed one of the side doors open and slipped inside, bracing for whatever storm that might be raging inside.
Coming home was a bittersweet feeling. Ophelia wasn't there, so the cottage echoed empty and cold, with a scent of damp lingering in the walls. Her spare clothes, neatly folded into a cedar chest, retained the folds even after Maea hung them up to air out, and the scent of wood and mothballs seemed a permanent feature now.
How long had she been gone, really? Was it more than a few weeks? It felt like an age, and like yesterday, and as she sat down by her desk to pen a letter for Danta, she found it hard to keep track of time.
It was a simple letter in the end, expressing her regret over what happened between her and Asta, requesting a chance to meet him so that they could, to put it simply, talk. If it was possible, at a time and place of his choosing... Preferably she would have explained more, but that felt like the cheap and easy way out. And above all, she was done making excuses for herself.
To her surprise, she actually received a reply before the day was over. Bracing herself, she threw on a cloak against the chill evening wind and made the long trek into the Inner Quarter. It felt like a different city from the one she had left. Most of the snow was gone from the streets, and flowers were appearing in garden beds and pots. The wind smelled sweetly of cooked meals and wood smoke, as people were returning home and settling in for dinner behind lit windows.
As for Maea, she turned her steps towards the Temple. Walking up the stairs, she pushed one of the side doors open and slipped inside, bracing for whatever storm that might be raging inside.
You can break something in two seconds
But it can take forever to fix it
But it can take forever to fix it
