It was hard to say if she'd slept at all. Her back ached from laying in one spot all night long, while her eyes bored into the murky gloom near the ceiling. When the edges of the curtain over the window began to glow with a dim, grey light, she knew it was time to rise. It felt as though her eyelids hadn't shut once since she laid down.
The air was cool and damp as her shivering fingers stoked the fire's embers back to life, and fresh wood was laid on. The room would not grow warm quickly, however, and she stayed near the hearth while slipping away from her nightgown. Her arms squeezed close to her ribs as she folded the garment and laid it on her bed. She puffed out trembling breaths as her bare feet carried her to the dresser, and the favored blue dress was lovingly removed.
Her mind replayed the events of the prior evening, while pale fingers drew the simple gown over her hips, and her arms wormed into the sleeves. A shadow had been looming over her, even from the moment she stepped into the Soothery and spoke with the doctor. There had been something particular she wanted to speak to him about, and something she wanted to ask. But they hadn't sat for five minutes when Aeruthuil came in, and then later, Tumunir, and then yet another soul, a young woman asking for aid for her mother.
It was difficult not to feel wracked with selfishness. She felt cheated somehow. Where had the days gone, when he had time alone to himself, and she could pay a visit and speak to him alone for an hour or two without interruptions? It wasn't his fault, after all, that he was becoming successful and respected, and more and more souls were seeking him out. Yet the fact remained that there were things she wished to ask, things she wanted to learn about, that required privacy. And he had no privacy. He had even extended his gracious invitation to her, that she need not knock on the door when visiting, as he seemed to do with most others. It was kind of him. And it was why he was never alone anymore.
She couldn't see much of her own features in the looking-glass over the dresser. Rain was now pattering softly on the windowpane. There would be no sunrise today. Her fingers gently drew back the thick, tousled locks of ebony hair. A tiny, plain pin was used to secure them in a simple knot at the back of her head.
A droopy canvas satchel sat on the chair nearby. She leaned down to press her hand over it, feeling for the two hard lumps within. Yes, the candles were there. But how could she light them in the rain? She brushed the concern aside, and left it to worry about when she arrived at her destination.
Opening the bedroom door, she peered out carefully into the main room of the tiny house. A thick, rotund lump snored beneath a blanket in the dim grey light. Her eyes fell upon the empty bed nearest where she stood, and a pinch of regret furrowed the smooth skin between her eyes. She drew in a deep sigh, and turned her gaze away.
Her leg throbbed with objection at being expected to move about on a cold, damp morning. She thought about stopping for a cup of the doctor's tea, but decided against it. She wanted to get this dreadful day done and over with. Pity was already beginning to brew at the thought of the poor pony who would be tasked with bringing her to the west side of Bree-town.
Her shawl was removed from its hook beside the door, and draped over her head and shoulders. She looked down at herself. In the absence of the sun's warmth, the dress seemed to be the color of a midnight sky instead of the bright hue she loved. She thought of the dwarves on their journey to their ancient home. And she hoped it wasn't raining on their heads.
After draping the satchel over her shoulder, she pulled the front door open as quietly as she could manage. There was a passing thought, or perhaps a hope, that someone might be waiting in the front yard. But it was, of course, empty. The village looked murky and colorless beneath the sooty clouds and spitting raindrops.
She stood for a time on the stoop, tucked back under the small eave, where she was spared from the rain's reach. Her eyes turned up to the sky, and the forest-floor patterns of green and gold in her irises reflected the silver light. A long while she stood, as if caught in some musing or indecision. Presently, she found herself humming a low tune, full of sweet melancholy. Her lips murmured a few words of the song, "...you've always known, your heart was on its own."
Her eyes closed in a long blink, and her head bowed. A little bounce adjusted the strap of the bag against her shoulder, and she began to descend the slippery steps of the Boarding House, one at a time, like a child.
