The summer night air was warm within their house. Yet, here Finchley was, putting logs upon the fire. For months now the old woman had complained of cold where there was none, hugging shawls about herself and shivering at the slightest breeze. Nineteen year old Finchley was neither oblivious or foolish about it. Over the last few weeks her heart had been slowly breaking into tiny little pieces; bit by bit, day by day, even as she wore her smile.
She knew as well as any common person did that Grams didn't have much time left.
The young woman stoked the fire, keeping the blaze well fed, and then looked over to where he Grams had been resting in bed, only to find that the old woman was attempting to rise on her own, limbs shaking and wrinkled features twisted in frustration. Her dark eyes moved about this way and that, unseeing. Not even shapes were visible to her now. The last time she had seen even light or color was over a year ago.
"Grams, stop! Don't just go gettin' up by yourself!"
"Good gracious, child! You always kick up such a fuss!" griped the old woman as her adopted granddaughter hurried over to support her weight, though there was no real anger or malice behind her voice. She was far too tired and loved Finchley too dearly for that.
"... Come here by the fire if you want to sit up for now."
Finchley half supported-half carried her frail grandmother to her usual chair by the fire. The old woman let out a quiet groan as her old bones creaked and ached as she sat down. Finchley flitted and fussed about her, pulling her woven shawl more securely about her shoulders, brushing her curtain of now-completely white hair out of her face, and asking thrice if she was comfortable.
"Leave it alone, child," the old woman said quietly, reaching out in front of her blindly until she found Finchley's arm. "Go fetch my comb. Goodness knows your hair has become unruly again. If you're going to keep is short like that you can't go about looking like a straw head."
The truth of the matter was that Finchley had long since learned to care for her own hair. But Grams always insisted on fixing it after all these years. It had in recent days become somewhat of a necessary ritual, moreso from Grams than Finchley herself.
She obediently retrieved the simple wooden comb and placed it securely within the old woman's wrinkled hand before plopping heself down on the floor nearby, back facing her so that her short locks of black hair were accessible. But where she had laughed and smiled happily as a child, the look on her face was now bittersweet as she felt careful and practiced fingers running through her hair, accompanied by the gentle pull of the comb.
Silence reigned in the room, save for the crackling of the fire, for several minutes before Finchley broke the silence with a question.
"Grams... Will you tell me now?"
...
"No, Finchley. Let an old woman have her peace."
The young woman sighed and nodded once as the comb still ran through her hair, smoothing out the very few tangles that it caught upon. Again, only the sound of wood burning upon the hearth was heard. But this time, Grams broke the silence herself, her voice warm and whispery, caught up in some subtle emotion that Finchley couldn't quite place.
"It does no good to dwell too much upon the past, child. Leave it lie and look towards the future while enjoying the present, as you always have. One such as you can never put a foot too far wrong."
Finchley nodded again as her shoulders began to shake a little. The movement of the comb paused and the shaking of her shoulders was stilled when two gentle hands rested upon them.
"Finchley... Child, look at me."
The old woman's tone was surprisingly soft but still booked no argument. The young woman rose upon her knees and turned about, kneeling on the floor facing her adopted grandmother this time. The fire's light glimmered off the fresh tear tracks upon her cheeks, created by the tiny twin rivers of tears that fell from her clover-green eyes. Grams could not see her face anymore, but she knew. Somehow, she always knew.
"Now, now," said the old woman in gentle admonishment, reaching forward blindly until she found Finchley's cheek to wipe away her tears. "Stop that crying. Do you not have much to look forward to? Don't think I didn't know every time you snuck away to learn from that adventurer with the ridiculous mustache."
"Mister Dewitt, Grams."
"I know very well that nothing I ever said stopped you from dreaming of going out into the world someday, foolish girl that you can be. Hmph! You always go after things you want with such tenacity; it's a wonder you haven't gone and cracked your fool head open, child."
Finchley laughed wetly through her tears and rested a hand upon the old woman's knee. "I'm still here, Grams."
"Indeed," agreed the old woman with a nod, settling back into her chair. "And so am I."
Another long silence followed as a certain heaviness seemed to descend upon them both. The fire began to die down as the thoroughly burnt log of wood began to crumble to bits of singed bark and ash. Finchley stood once more and moved to place another log upon the hearth, blowing lightly upon the embers to coax the fire into burning again.
"Come here, child," called her Grams, patting the space on her knee. "You must be tired."
"I'm not that tired," replied Finchley, though she did as she was bidden and sat down upon the floor once more, laying her head upon the old woman's lap as she had when she was still a little child. She felt fingers in her hair again, brushing lightly against her scalp and couldn't help but to allow her eyes to close.
"If you want my blessing child, you have it," whispered Grams and she lovingly carded her wrinkled fingers through the boyish looking woman's hair, despite how stiff and achy they felt.
"Grams--" Finchley started but her adopted grandmother hushed her with a soft sound.
"Listen well, girl. May you sail fair to the far fields of fortune with diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet and may you need never to banish misfortune."
A smile found its way to Finchley's face as a few tears began to fall from her eyes, leaving droplets upon the old woman's blanketed knee. Still, as those loving hands tended to her hair she felt an inexplicable sense of peace about her. In that moment, without any effort on her part, her limbs became heavy and it felt as if a blanket of warmth enfolded her, though it came not from the fire.
"May you find kindness in all that you meet. May you bring love and may you bring happiness and be loved in return to the end of your days."
She began to drift off, even as her eyes fluttered in her effort to stay awake. A warm hand ghosted across her cheek and over her eyes, effectively shutting them.
"Sleep, Finchley. I am still here yet."
Little by little, she slipped into the realm of dreams, enfolded in that same warmth with gentle fingers still carding through her hair. In the midst of it all, she swore she could hear a whisper above her, familiar and sad, though she couldn't make it out in totality.
"... --such as I have been blessed with you..."
"Have I done en--..."
"--wish I could see your--..."
"--not alone after all. Here at the end of my--..."
"I can finally rest--..."
"... --be forgiven."
"--love you, girl..."
----
...
Finchley awoke by the soft crowing of the rooster outside as dawn broke over the farmlands and villages of Bree-land. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see that she was viewing the room sideways. The hearth had gone dim, though the warmth of the fire still lingered in the room accompanied by the warmth of the late spring morning.
She blinked once. Twice. And then yawned as she pulled herself into an upright position, stretching her arms out to the side. And then the events of the night came back to her and her whole body jerked as she turned to face the old woman, still sitting in the chair by the hearth, looking to be soundly asleep. Finchley reached out to lay a hand upon one wrinkled hand.
"... Grams?"
The hand was cold.
