Morwyn wandered aimlessly through the streets as the moon began to rise. She nibbled halfheartedly at the bread and sausage that she'd purchased from a street vendor but her appetite had long since fled. The sights and sounds and smells of Lonely Harbor all seemed to blend together as she wandered through the spiderweb of cobbled roads. Most of the citizens still out and about gave her a respectful berth though some nodded in her direction or gave her tentative waves of the hand. It was clear they were still used to whatever curfew had been lifted that day and many of them made their way indoors earlier than she would've expected, though she didn't mind as the noise of the town began to quiet to a dull hum.
Try as she might, Morwyn couldn't shake the melancholy that dampened her mood. The eight years since she'd left her homeland had been enough to dull the pain, but certainly not enough to heal it. There were too many unanswered questions for her to even begin to approach closure. Now with Rennock's confirmation that she truly wasn't who she thought she was and Eronir's reminder of her roots, the emotional scars had been torn wide open.
It almost hurt worse to know that others in the caravan cared for her well-being. Rennock's kind words and Hazel's earnest concern were daggers in her gut. It would've been easier if they'd treated her with suspicion or indifference. Decades of experience had taught her how to deal with such things. She didn't know how to reconcile with support, particularly Hazel's offer of a shoulder to lean upon.
It was one thing to know the other guards liked and trusted her; they'd relied on each other in combat and had triumphed, if only just, but that was work. The dangers of the present distracted from the wounds of the past. She and Argoth had shared just enough to scratch the surface and gain an understanding of one another and both of them seemed to know better than to pry deeper. She couldn't imagine opening up the same way with Eronir or Trux. It would only serve to distract from their duties.
“Gods, you're a mess,” she admonished herself as she began trudging toward the western gate.
Though only the occasional oil lamp lit the quiet streets it was easy enough to make her way by the light of the full moon as it climbed above the imposing peaks to the east. She forced herself to choke down the remainder of her food as she walked on. Appetite or not, her body needed the fuel to recover from the strain of the march as well as her wounds. Distress came second to survival as it always had. A bell tolled eight times from somewhere within the town behind her as she drew near the gate. One of the soldiers on the ground level noticed her approach and straightened his posture.
“Anything I can help you with, miss?” he asked. Another soldier on the walkway above leaned over with a lamp raised in one hand as they listened in.
Morwyn cleared her throat and smoothed her hair back with one hand, tugging her braid in front of one shoulder.
“Am I able to leave town and return later tonight? An odd request I know, given recent circumstances. I just... I need to go for a walk. Need to clear my mind.”
The soldier looked uncomfortable for a moment, stroking his short beard with one hand as he considered the request. His comrade above descended the wooden stairs and spoke. Morwyn realized it was the female lieutenant from earlier in the evening.
“She's with the caravan, sergeant. She and hers killed Langdon and his crew.” The lieutenant gave Morwyn an appraising look, her expression neither friendly nor hostile. “Captain Gryndon sent a contingent of riders to the Crossing to verify their story. They should return with word in a few days, but as of now the curfew has been lifted...”
Morwyn stood awkwardly and rubbed her sore shoulder as the soldiers shared a meaningful look. Clearly their alertness had not been eased by the captain's trust and she couldn't blame them.
“Alright, miss,” the sergeant said reluctantly. “You may leave, but please come back before the change of the guard at the tenth bell. You may be able to return after that, but it'll be easier if we're the ones to receive you. Forgive our abundance of caution.”
“I'll be sure to return before then,” Morwyn assured them. “Not looking to cause alarm.”
The sergeant signaled his men on either side of the gate to lift the bar and open the doors for her. Morwyn took several steps forward but paused as a question occurred to her.
“Apologies. Where might I find a place to bathe in town once I'm finished?”
The lieutenant lifted one hand to indicate the northern side of the town.
“There's a bathhouse to the east of the citadel. It's built into the cliff side, just beyond the public gardens. Other than that, several of the inns in town may draw you a bath, though they may be reluctant if you haven't rented a room.”
“Thank you,” Morwyn said with a nod of gratitude to each of the soldiers. She turned and stepped quickly through the gate and into the night, stopping a hundred yards or so down the road to assess her surroundings. The sea lapped gently against the sandy shore not far to her left and the steep mountain that protected Lonely Harbor's north end tapered down into the hills to her right. She closed her eyes and let the smell of the salt breeze fill her senses. She could wander the shoreline and have an easy walk back to the town... or she could hike up the mountain and find an isolated spot to meditate.
Despite her exhaustion she opted for the second. A restlessness stirred within her and she figured that the exercise might help to clear her mind. She also needed more time to get used to the weight of her chain-mail, as she didn't plan on taking the journey east with it collecting dust in the back of a wagon. She adjusted her sword-belt on her hips and took a few deep breaths, then stepped off the road toward the rocky hills to the north. There wasn't time to waste if she wanted to make it back before the changing of the guard.
The evening was quiet save for the chirping of insects and the occasional scuffle of small creatures scuttling about through the tall grass. It was easy to shut out her intrusive thoughts as she hiked up the increasingly steep and rocky terrain. Morwyn focused on her breathing, her balance, the placement of her feet, the sounds of nature all around her... anything but the aching in her heart. As she scanned the barren slope above for movement, she was both relieved and disappointed that no worgs or other creatures leapt from the grass to challenge her. She supposed that such beasts wouldn't stray so close to the town.
After a time she came upon a ledge at the base of a short cliff and decided it was as good a place as any to rest and collect her thoughts. Pushing onward wouldn't have been overly difficult but she had to keep her timeline in mind. The bell had not yet tolled the ninth hour so she had plenty of time to return, but she'd gained enough distance that the sounds of the town winding down for the night were lost to the rustling of long grass and the twittering of nocturnal creatures preparing for the night's adventures.
Morwyn slipped off her pack and wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead, grateful for the cool breeze drifting down the mountainside. She drank deeply from her canteen before settling in on the ledge, her back against the rough stone and her legs dangling over the lip. For a long moment she simply took in the view as she let her pulse settle and focused on taking deep, calming breaths. The gentle swaying of the ships in the harbor far below was soothing, almost hypnotic for a moment. Her bird's eye view gave her a better understanding and appreciation for just how neatly the town was tucked into the land between the mountains and the sea.
At the far eastern edge of the town she could just make out the twinkling lantern light and column of white smoke that indicated the caravan's location in the open field. A brief smile crossed her lips, then her expression turned pensive as she dug into her pack and retrieved her journal.
They were good people. Honest, as far as they were allowed to be. Sincere, as best she could tell. Brave, that was without question. They were good to her in so many ways in such a short amount of time. It hadn't even been a fortnight since she joined them, yet they treated her as one of their own. Why was it so hard for her to accept their kindness, to see it as anything more than professional courtesy?
Morwyn opened her journal with a sigh, flicking through the pages and lingering on a few that caught her eye. Her rough illustrations scattered throughout told her story just as much as the words around them. The prow of a ship as she approached the mainland for the first time, her favorite nook at the library where she'd studied the use of magic scrolls, the curve of a long forgotten lover's hip peeking out from beneath a blanket... She rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat, then turned to the last marked page. The pillars of the bridge at Whitewater Crossing shown a stark black against the white of the page. No words, just five black tally marks beneath the illustration.
She'd killed five men that day. Evil men, but men nonetheless. They weren't the first and likely wouldn't be the last, but the act of killing a humanoid felt somehow different than slaying a beast no matter how much they deserved it. How many of them were outcasts, thrown into a life they hadn't chosen, the same as her? How many fell to a life of violence and hatred because nobody had been there to guide them on the right path?
Her brows drew together as she stared at the page, at the tally. The only thing separating her from the murderers she'd put to the sword was the love of her family, and even that hadn't been enough to keep her from running away.
Gods, she missed them.
Several tears fell on the blank page beside her illustration. She wiped them away quickly before they could damage the paper then retrieved the long, narrow leather pouch that held her brush and ink. She unscrewed the barrel of the brush and carefully poured a small amount of ink into the well before screwing the brush tip back into place. She flicked it to the side several times to get the ink flowing through the bristles and touched the brush to the page. The bell tolled nine times as she poured her thoughts into the journal, each peal echoing up the mountainside in turn. She hardly noticed the silence that followed the final ring until the buzzing of insects and fluttering of birds and bats returned. She didn't know how long she wrote, but by the time she finished the final stroke her hand was cramped with the effort of keeping the brush steady.
The illustration that accompanied this entry was small, taking up the top quarter of the page, a simple impression of the moon rising over Lonely Harbor. Morwyn set her journal aside to let the ink dry as she cleaned the ink from her brush with a few splashes of water from her canteen. The tears had long since dried to her cheeks and made the skin feel tight. She poured water into her hands and splashed it against her face as she felt the ache in her chest begin to lessen, though it didn't fully fade. The catharsis of putting her fears and doubts to the page had always been soothing in a way that speaking to others had never truly done. She looked down to her journal as the soft breeze rustled the pages beneath the stone she'd used to prop it open. One line stood out as if emblazoned by the silvery light of the full moon.
I'm not human, am I?
She gingerly tested the final words with the tip of one finger and, finding them fully dry, removed the stone and slammed the leather cover of the journal shut. Her heart leapt into her throat and more tears threatened to fall but she held them at bay. She'd shuttered her emotions for so long that they were difficult to contain now that the dam was cracking. She stuffed the book back into her pack and leaned her head back against the stone of the cliff with her eyes shut, breathing deeply. When she opened them once more, her vision was filled by the pale orb of the moon shining brightly against the black sky and stars far beyond.
“Moonmother, guide me...”
She whispered the prayer more out of habit than from devotion. None of the gods had answered her before, at least not in a way that she could understand. Every plea, every desperate whisper in the darkness, felt like nothing more than chaff in the wind. Were the gods even real? If they were, did they care what mortals had to say?
She pulled her last smoke from her case and held it in her mouth as she struck flint to steel, the bright sparks illuminating her briefly with each clash of stone against metal. When it was finally lit she inhaled deeply. Argoth's lungwort was certainly of a higher quality, but the harsh smoke that burned the back of her throat felt good for some reason. She exhaled slowly, watching the lazy spirals trail off before being whisked away by the gentle wind.
Her gaze fell down the mountain to Lonely Harbor, a bulwark of civilization on the edge of the wilds. She knew now that she'd never have laid eyes upon it if she'd taken the eastern road alone. It wouldn't do to dwell on her fate if she'd come to Whitewater Crossing by herself. If she hadn't taken a chance on the caravan she'd be dead or worse at the hands of man or beast. At least she had that much going for her. She would never find out who or what she was if she were dead.
Dear child, I am so sorry, she thought, recalling Rennock's words. Whatever he thought he recognized within her, it was clearly not something to celebrate. It was something wrong with her. Something different. Yet still the old man had treated her with kindness, with acceptance. She ached to know what he suspected of her origin but understood that to rush back and interrogate him would only bring her more pain. She had to complete the journey to have even a gambler's chance at discovering what she was.
She had to make it to the Vale.
Though she was drained from the climb and doubly so from the introspection, Morwyn finished her smoke and packed up her belongings then made her way carefully back down the mountainside. From the position of the moon she judged that she'd make it back through the gate just before the tenth bell. At least she hadn't strayed so deeply within herself that she'd lost all track of time.
The bell began to mark the hour just as she strode back through the gate with a silent nod from the lieutenant atop the wall. Morwyn didn't think the soldiers could see the red rim around her eyes as she passed by them without a word, though if they could she didn't care. Her only thoughts were of the bathhouse that awaited her.