Loss and Hope

Maevrim bolted upright with a gasp, all at once awake. Her ears were still ringing with the screams in her dreams—or had they been real? She dropped her face to her hands, moaning. 1

It took her a moment to realize where she was: Darkshire once more, at the Tavern. Shakily she slid from the bed, her feet landing amongst the multiple tomes she’d disturbed at her sudden waking. 2

Too many nights walking the Silithid shore; she’d grown accustomed to the sound of the waves, the howl of the scouring, sand-laden wind. There is no better place to be made completely new. Her heart felt heavy at the memories. Unable to reach even Saetania, the home Keruptis had made for them was nearly out of reach—it was too far and too dangerous a journey to be made alone. But not impossible.3

The pain echoed in her soul; her blood-bond with her husband told her that he yet lived, though in what state she was unsure. But his soul still soars, and my own with it. She knew he had last gone to study the flow of time within the Caverns of Time—something he did often, a study that required the whole of his attention each time. 4

Maevrim moaned again softly, her arms wrapped across her chest, clutching herself. Something is wrong, something has gone wrong. My love, my love…what has happened to you? The presence was unmistakably Keruptis, but it was so changed. 5

“My lady? Forgive me…but there was a courier for you.” Firanza, the newest handmaiden in training, knelt before her. She tactfully ignored the dust-covered pile of tomes strewn about the floor. 6

Maevrim composed herself quickly, turning her eyes to the young warlock. “No reason to forgive.” She held out her hand for the message Firanza held; the girl handed it over hastily and left as quickly as possible. Her nervousness brought a twisted smile of pleasure to Maevrim’s lips.7

She frowned at the state of the scroll—still sealed, it had obviously been through much. The vellum was encrusted with dust, a sign of great aging. She sniffed it delicately, taking in the scent—human skin—and testing for signs of the author. Only more dust.8

Breaking the seal delicately, she brushed gently at the dust obscuring the words. Her heart pounded as she uncovered what she could.9

…don’t have much time…try…soon…10

Her mouth went dry. Could it be…? A small cry, not unlike that of a wounded animal, escaped her throat.11

…look for me. I’ll remember you…
12

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