The Autobiography of Gayle Hunter

Fate and the Fool

I'm not sure how long it was before I ventured out again.  A few days, at least.  It wasn't...lost time, like I'd had before.  I was all too aware of it.  At last, I roused myself and visited the tavern again, checking over the noticeboard for a possible distraction.  Smoke, the one who'd hired us about the dragon, needed help again—seemed one of his top researchers had gone missing in a particularly dangerous part of the jungle.

...Life has quite the way of throwing things in your path.  I suppose death is no different.

We did get the researcher back, at least—and I was left with a seed, and a promise.  ...And quite the headache.  Been a while since I'd had one of those.  I'd caught a shot directly to the forehead—and, well, I suppose if I hadn't been already, I'd be dead now.  But since I was...no healing magic wanted to touch me.  So I had a headache.

I went to the tavern to look for Kari as soon as I could.  I'd patched myself up before, sure, but it took sticking everything back into place with mud and wire and hoping a mending spell would take, and half the time my bones ached for weeks afterward like having sand between your joints.  If I had access to a necromancer...

I regretted it as soon as I stepped through the door.  The sounds of conversation, laughter, clinking glasses and utensils, music hidden somewhere in the mess, a shout and a warning and an apology all in one breath as someone nearly bowled me over as they hurried past—all of it crashed over me like a wave, halting me in my tracks.  I didn't look around very closely before slipping out to the courtyard.

Someone was lying on one of the benches, watching the stars, or perhaps sleeping.  It wasn't Kari.  I wasn't really sure what else to do, so I sat by the fountain, half hoping she'd walk out at some point.

The water fell upon itself with a pleasingly round sort of splash—you know the sort, that isn't too sharp, staccato, nor a constant fall, but distinct splashes just soft enough to keep a gentle sort of feel.  The distant ocean of the tavern rose as the door opened.  I grimaced, but looked up eagerly all the same—it was Morn.  I froze.  He grinned, giving a salute in greeting.

I raised my hand, haltingly, in return and gave a little wave.  Would a smile—yes, a smile would be appropriate.  At least a small one.  That would be—but how would—nothing major, of course, just something simple, was the moment past?  I dropped the attempt, the Weave too much of a muddle to produce anything decent, and Morn laughed a little, wandering closer.

"You really haven't gotten better at that, have you?"  His expression warmed.  "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the thought nonetheless."

"Er...of course.  I mean, I haven't.  Blast it, sorry.  Had a heck of a fight yesterday; the headache's stuck around..."

He looked confused for a moment, but shrugged.  "Are you waiting for someone?  It's rare that I see you out here alone, or at least without your melodies to keep you company."

"Yes...  Oh, I was, ah...looking for someone.  Earlier.  Not here.  Or, I was looking here, and, she's not here.  ...Did you want to...sit, or something?"  I gestured to the bench beside me.

"I suppose I can keep you company while you wait," Morn said, giving me a quizzical look.  "I don't think I've ever seen you this scattered.  Are you sure it's just the remnants of the fight?"

"Ah...certainly!  Probably."  I looked away with some noise akin to a cough.  "Absolutely."

"Well...if there is something on your mind, then feel free to voice it.  I've already dropped my woes on you plenty of times; it's only right I return the favor."  He smiled, then hesitated.  "I do understand if you'd rather not," he added, something apologetic to his posture.  "I can't imagine you'd wish to share your darkest secrets with someone who's threatened your life on multiple occasions."