Found:
Kestrea came to the house, as I had asked. She came alone. I cannot but admit to a stab of disappointment when I realised that, but I'd not asked her to come simply so she could bring him. I asked her here for her first and foremost.
I explained what had occurred, why it had occurred, and apologized for the things I had said. She was accepting of that. I think that may be because I made no excuses. The effects of the plant certainly played a large part in my behavior, but the underlying thoughts - the ones blown so out of proportion by the imaginary voice - were mine and mine alone. I admit that.
We spoke at length, she and I, of several matters. One was how badly it grates upon me to be treated or seen as an invalid in need of looking after. She understood my hatred of it as well as the pride I have for the simple act of still breathing after all I have been through. She doesn't know the details, of course, only that my life has not been an easy one - partially through my own choices.
She also explained to me that, although Rowan is currently absent, he means to return. His leaving his scarf behind, apparently, was a sign meant to convey such an intent. This makes no sense to either of us. She said his reasoning was convoluted, but either could not or would not explain it further. Think on it as I might, I cannot see the logic in it. The removal of his items, save the few I gave to him, suggest that he cannot bear to hold even a token reminder of me. It suggests that he will not be back and is, indeed, putting me and this place behind him for good.
He hasn't left Bree-Land yet, I'm told, though she does not know where he is. He went to her to air his grievances and ask her to stay behind, and then he went on his way. He said he might come to see me before he goes.
Might. Hah.
I must admit I've a wish to find the stubborn sod and explain the situation. To set his mind at ease, if possible. To fix what I have broken, perhaps. I don't really know. I just... want him to know, to no longer worry, to... to at least come in from the cold.
She's right, though. Despite counseling that I should be less stubborn and give ground sometimes, on this occasion she believes it would be best if I indulge in it and simply wait for him to come to me when he is ready.
It's surprisingly difficult to do.
In the meantime, I've come to realise just how much I dislike this house. I've never been overly fond of it, true. It has always been more of a convenience than anything else. A place bought simply so that I would not have to rent rooms in the local tavern, an attempt to settle down, to leave the road behind and start what others would consider to be a proper life. Deep down though, I've always felt a certain amount of resentment toward it for being so static, for being claustrophobic and empty. So I filled it with things. This did not help. It is meaningless, all of it.
It only feels like home when he's here.
I've written that before. It's a thought I keep returning to, but I've yet to ascertain why. There may be some importance to it that I've yet to see.
Regardless, I've found that I don't much like being here alone anymore, if I ever did. Not at night anyway. I'd rather be outside in the stables with Steel than in my own cold bed. So, as the hour was growing late, I offered Woad the use of my spare bed. I was most grateful when she accepted.
We did, however, have a fight. With pillows. She won. It was oddly entertaining!
I have, of course, vowed vengeance for my utter drubbing. Not today. Not even tomorrow. But one day the score shall be made even! The Knight of Goosebutt must be vanquished!
I get the distinct feeling that I am supposed to rub my hands together and emit an evil laugh around about now. I'd best not, though. I'd rather not disturb her sleep.
For now, there is much to think about.
