Music for this scene: The empty doll
The beginning of Autumn was at hand. The leaves had yet to change, but the days were slowly becoming cooler. A slow and steady rain beat against her window. As she lies in bed at the Prancing Pony. She had never heard a single sound in her entire life. The higher power seeing it fit stripped her of it. But not her sight or the nerves in her body, she could feel. Possibly more than any other living being that she knew. Sicarra enjoyed watching the rain. When it rained at night, it made her think that her ancestors or mother nature is weeping with her. This was a small comfort, during the long, sleepless nights. She would take any comfort she could get. None heard her cries in the night, nor did she expect anyone, to come to her side. His face emerged into her dreams again. As it often would. A phantom, a ghost, of what was. The hill-woman had many of them. Though, Gwaenion, is the most persistent.
Her eyelids fluttered as she lingered in a light sleep. The state of dreaming, her hands gripped the sheets. And the cold sweat returned. The lone camp underneath the broken mountains of Dunland. In her mind's eye, as she slept. The camp where it all began and when a chapter ended. He was her closest companion. In her heart, he was her husband and she was his wife. Gwaenion never smiled, save for her, when she drew near. The corners of his lips always would upturn, slightly. Even so, it made her feel special. She was not his property, no, she was his companion. His love, his best friend. They held no secrets from each other. She could feel the heat of the fire on that one Autumn evening in her homeland. Underneath the stars while the brethren were away. Only for his face to sink again into an a abyss, deep and dark. This time she did not wake up screaming. However, the aching emptiness existed. Her eyes opened and she saw that in the darkened room. She was indeed alone..
