I am but a few leagues from the gates of Snowbourn as I write this. The morning is past, and a cluster of willow trees beside a little stream seemed a good place to take a short rest. Departing the town itself was the hardest part so far, and I pray it will remain so. I did not sleep at all last night. I could not begin to tell all the thoughts that churned within my head. I will have to keep today’s ride somewhat short, as the sun is already setting much earlier, and riding alone while sleepy is not wise. I prepared as best I could. I’ve plenty of food and water, warm clothing. My blade is polished and sharpened, though I pray I need never use it.
I am not going west to Edoras, as I had planned. I have not abandoned Elfswith’s wisdom concerning her relationship with her father. But after much introspection, I realized that her father was thrown into circumstances beyond his control. His world was shattered by the loss of his wife, and his...emotional distance from his children was not intentional. If my father or mother had lived under similar heartbreak and confusion, I might be more forgiving and inclined to heal the breach. I do not hate my parents. I could never, for they gave me life and they did raise me to be an honorable and hard-working woman. But there is little affection for me in their hearts, and I do not think this will change. If I am wrong, then so be it, but as for today, I am not going there.
Already, my musings are deep and brooding! Look up, Brynleigh. The sky is perfectly blue, the birds are singing in the heather. Jack has his head buried in some patch of grass on the far side of the trees here. Sweet Jack! All over the world, he has been with me wherever I went. How solid he felt beneath me as we rode from Snowbourn before dawn. I turned to look back. My heart ached to bursting with the longing I felt to run and knock on that little farmhouse door. Thank Béma for Jack, striding forward, strong and sure. “I’m here,” he always seems to say to me. “I will take care of you.”
I will follow the line of hills to the east until nightfall. I have not extensively traveled these fields, but I know there is a village tucked up against the foothills, not too far along the road. I am prepared to camp at night if I must, though I would prefer being near a village or a farm if we can be, just for safety.
I imagine these first days and nights will be the most trying. I have not been “alone” in the true sense for...I couldn’t even guess how long it has been. I went north with a caravan. I came south again with Gamferth. I traveled east with Conrob, Baldmar, and Cesistya. Always, there has been some kind of company. It is long overdue that I learn who I am on my own. Perhaps, with enough hours to sit in solitude and do my thinking, my mind will empty itself, and at long last, be quiet.
“When will you begin to bury him?” That was Crow’s question to me. A brash and rude thing to say. What does he know of me? What does that man know of my heart? A few conversations in as many years. He knows nothing of me. If he did, he would know that one cannot force grief to its conclusion. A soul cannot go from being rent in twain, to being whole again. Whatever my soul will become in the days ahead, it will happen at its own pace, and I know not what the ending will bring. But if he had asked me the very same question a year ago, I would have told him that he was welcome to bury me alongside Conrob and be done with it. At least today, I have a wish to try. I can see the things that used to bring me joy and light and hope. I see them as if through a window yet. I cannot touch them fully. But I am reaching for them. Surely this must count for something. I am burying him. Bit by bit, stone by stone.
I feel a terrific mixture of anxiety, daring, and sadness. Already, I look forward to returning to the faces I saw only hours and days hence. At the same time, the thought of watching the world grow mellow and golden under autumn’s kiss while sat in the saddle and free from any social expectation, has me fairly quivering with excitement. I want to see what Brynleigh is made of; truly made of. I want to bury these ghosts that have followed me for far too long. I want to shed them as a bird sheds its old, dead, useless feathers. And then, I will return, and with the grace of the gods, throw aside everything that has held me back.
