Wren flinched faintly at the touch, then stilled, as if anchoring herself to the warmth of his hand. The gentleness of it, the steadiness in his voice, loosened something tight and trembling inside her. She nodded once, a small, fragile motion, and drew in a shuddering breath.
"Okay," she murmured, then quieter still, "Thank you."
She let him guide her through the streets she knew by heart. The room she led him to was tucked away and modest, its door opening onto a space that looked more like a pause in someone else’s life than the center of her own. Light filtered in through a narrow window, falling across a neatly made bed, a small table, and a single chair. A canvas bag lay folded at the foot of the bed, and she picked it up and smoothed it flat. From a hook on the wall she took down a thin jacket, the fabric worn soft at the cuffs, and folded it with careful precision. A pair of shoes waited beneath the chair, scuffed at the toes, laces knotted from habitual use. She loosened them, tucked them side by side into the bag. On the table sat a chipped mug, its glaze spiderwebbed with fine cracks. She hesitated, then added it too, fingers lingering as though committing their texture to memory. Last, she reached for a simple necklace resting near where the mug had been. Instead of putting it in the bag, she put it on. When she looked over to Zavien, he had made short work of the rest of her space and was holding another canvas bag.
Neither were heavy.
---
Wren had stayed near him since the sun first crested the horizon, a quiet shadow at Zavien’s side as the final preparations were made. She carried messages when his hands were full, guided the elderly toward the right lines, and any other thing she needed to do to keep moving, and to prolong her departure from her home as long as she could. The ground’s constant shudder had long since stopped startling her -- it only made her cling more firmly to the task, to keep the fear from swallowing her whole.
Now, at the edge of the skyport, she stood a step behind him, her small canvas bags slung across each shoulder. She was quiet, and as the last of what she assumed was his council (a soldier, most assuredly by his looks, and the blonde woman who had helped her in the alley), Wren listened but stayed quiet, feeling like a shadow more than a person.
And when it was time, she boarded the last ship, and saw the city -- the only thing she knew -- for the last time.
Wren stays until the last ship and boards when it is time! Wren out ~~~
"Okay," she murmured, then quieter still, "Thank you."
She let him guide her through the streets she knew by heart. The room she led him to was tucked away and modest, its door opening onto a space that looked more like a pause in someone else’s life than the center of her own. Light filtered in through a narrow window, falling across a neatly made bed, a small table, and a single chair. A canvas bag lay folded at the foot of the bed, and she picked it up and smoothed it flat. From a hook on the wall she took down a thin jacket, the fabric worn soft at the cuffs, and folded it with careful precision. A pair of shoes waited beneath the chair, scuffed at the toes, laces knotted from habitual use. She loosened them, tucked them side by side into the bag. On the table sat a chipped mug, its glaze spiderwebbed with fine cracks. She hesitated, then added it too, fingers lingering as though committing their texture to memory. Last, she reached for a simple necklace resting near where the mug had been. Instead of putting it in the bag, she put it on. When she looked over to Zavien, he had made short work of the rest of her space and was holding another canvas bag.
Neither were heavy.
---
Wren had stayed near him since the sun first crested the horizon, a quiet shadow at Zavien’s side as the final preparations were made. She carried messages when his hands were full, guided the elderly toward the right lines, and any other thing she needed to do to keep moving, and to prolong her departure from her home as long as she could. The ground’s constant shudder had long since stopped startling her -- it only made her cling more firmly to the task, to keep the fear from swallowing her whole.
Now, at the edge of the skyport, she stood a step behind him, her small canvas bags slung across each shoulder. She was quiet, and as the last of what she assumed was his council (a soldier, most assuredly by his looks, and the blonde woman who had helped her in the alley), Wren listened but stayed quiet, feeling like a shadow more than a person.
And when it was time, she boarded the last ship, and saw the city -- the only thing she knew -- for the last time.
Wren stays until the last ship and boards when it is time! Wren out ~~~
Nothing inbetween me and the rain
