Katnya walked home with an uncharacteristic slump to her shoulders. She led her horse by the reins, pulling the empty cart the short distance. She sighed when she opened the door and looked to the huge stack of letters just inside the door. A bunch had arrived together just a few days ago. Why had she never opened them?
She slumped in her chair by the empty fireplace and stared at the cold ashes. Time passed her by, and Aren came to drop Alaya back with her. When Katnya said that Alfmaer was back he simply nodded knowingly, signed to say Alaya could stay the night with Inayat and him, then took the little girl back to his home.
She always felt he had mastered the ability to say a lot with his eyes to make up for his inability to speak. Well, he was usually right about these things, so she did as he had said with his eyes. She thought things through. What was the actual reason for why she had never opened the letters? Apparently, the answer was simple.
She had been bitter.
Alfmaer had left her and Alaya alone, and Katnya had been angry. After everything she had been through, the losses and betrayals, it had been too much for her to cope with. So, she had just gone about as though it had been final. Despite the letters. Despite those altogether too sneaky rangers that delivered the letters checking up on her. She had caught them spying on her house a few times. They were probably just trying to make sure she was okay but being as bitter as she was, it had just angered her more. She recalled, with no small amount of chagrin, the time she had thrown a rock at one of them to make him go away.
Perhaps Alfmaer had left, but she had sent letters. Letter after letter for almost five years. She had tried to make sure that Katnya and Alaya were safe and well. She had even sent the occasional gifts. Katnya had just been too bitter in her loneliness to accept them.
Well, Alfmaer was back and maybe it was time for Katnya to do some growing up and actually try to understand the woman she had once cared for so deeply. She moved the stack of letters to the table beside her armchair and flipped it upside down. Taking the topmost and therefore oldest letter, she began to read.
The story they told broke her heart, remade it, then broke it once more. They told the tale of a sad, confused woman trying her hardest to become better, fighting to get past the traumas of her past. They told of that woman remarkably succeeding in that endeavour. They also told the story of a woman desperately wanting for love, reaching out time and time again despite every attempt being ignored. Never giving up. Never losing hope nor faith.
The depth of her own selfishness hit Katnya like a maul to the breastplate. Worse even, for she had personal experience to compare it with.
How could Alfmaer still love her, even after so long being ignored? How could she not hate her?
Alfmaer had not abandoned her. It was Katnya that had abandoned Alfmaer.
Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto the page in her hand as she read the last letters. Alfmaer’s determination to return was astounding. Everything she had endured had been for the love of a woman who refused to write her back out of a childish pettiness. She was sobbing uncontrollably as she set the final page down on the pile of read letters.
What was she meant to do now? How could she possibly apologise? How could Alfmaer ever forgive her? How would she ever forgive herself?
There was only one thing she could do.
She rushed out the door into the deep black of night. How long had she been reading for? She was so glad that Arenborn had taken Alaya for the whole night. It meant she could rush out in the night and not risk disturbing the anxious young girl.
She knew Alfmaer well enough to know where she would have gone after leaving the Turtle. She now had fifty-two letters to bring that understanding up to date.
So it was that in the deep black of a new moon night, wearing a simple dress, Katnya all but sprinted to the Hookworth Guest House. After six years she knew the roads well enough to barely stumble despite the tears and darkness. To her frustration she learnt that she had lost much of her stamina over the years for she was panting when she arrived at the guest house door.
Without hesitation or a break for air, she began pounding at the sturdy wooden door. She had to make things right. She hammered at the door and would not stop until it was opened.
