It had been an ... interesting ... few months, mused Tamara as she sat on a bench in the rose garden at Black Iris's Boarding House. Her slender fingers nimbly rebraided her waist-length red hair and her blue eyes unfocused as she lost herself in thought.
She had moved to Arden to try to find a place to make into a home, and instead had ended up in the middle of one crisis after another. She smiled ruefully as she thought of the confusion caused when someone mistook her for a woman by the name of GypsyFlame. While there had been much sorrow and loss involved in the chaos that had ensued, at least it had restored to her both her memories, and her full abilities as a healer/energy mage.
Kyle would be so surprised. He had fallen in love with a "simple" gypsy healer while his mercenary unit was on leave, and they had married in a quiet ceremony. While she found a place to make a permanent home for the two of them, he had gone back to finish his last tour of duty.
Any day now, he would return, and their life together could begin more properly ... and she would no longer be worrying about feeling as if she had little to contribute to their material wealth. It seemed her skills were always in demand, and the people paid well, if creatively.
They didn't have to worry about affording a home, either, as Black Iris had left her as the housekeeper/whatever of the Boarding House while she went on a journey. Tamara was glad to have the job. Not only did she love the house already, but she was looking forward to using her newly-reawakened magics to enhance the wardings on the house.
Sometimes the house seemed almost ... alive. After the first few times it seemed to change to accomodate whatever tenants were currently there, she stopped being so surprised about it. Once her magic abilities were reawakened, she was at first awed, then enthralled with the house magics. Black Iris's late husband had been a dragon lord, and he had provided well for his widow, infusing the house with enough magics to ensure it would thrive long after he was dead.
Her thoughts wandered back to Kyle, and the uneasy restlessness that had filled her for the last few days returned. If he was released from his merc unit, the Sparhawks, on time, he should be arriving sometime in the next three days. But she had a gut feeling that something was wrong.
As if summoned by her ill-ease, she heard footsteps leading from the gate to the front door of the house, and she stood, smoothing out her emerald green silk skirt. She began walking up the pathway that led around the side of the house, and rounded the front corner in time to hear a tired male voice ask for "Tamara MacCuimhail". Her heart quickened, then almost stopped for a long second. The travel-begrimed man on the front porch was not her husband, but the mercenary patch on his shoulder identified him as being with the Sparhawks.
Swallowing heavily, her throat suddenly quite dry, she spoke up when she reached the bottom of the porch steps, "I am Tamara."
The man turned and gawked a moment at the petite redheaded vision, before recovering. "Carl Samuelson of the Sparhawks, m'am." He looked very uncomfortable as he held out a battered knapsack, with a letter sticking out of it. "I was asked to deliver this to you ..." He trailed off, then resumed, " ... and to deliver to you Captain Jorgen's personal condolences. Your husband was ..."
His words faded into a buzz in the back of her mind as she accepted the pack, and took the letter. Unfolding it, she read it slowly, locking her knees as the world seemed to tilt around her.
Phrases of the letter leapt off the page at her: "Kyle MacCuimhail ... served valiantly in the last campaign ... mustering out after even sharing of spoils ... killed by fellow mercenary who coveted some jewelry Kyle had claimed as a gift for his wife ... enclosed are his personal effects, including his mustering-out pay and the abovementioned jewelry."
The letter wafted to the ground in slow-motion, as the knapsack landed with a much more solid >thump<. The messenger's voice buzzed across her benumbed mind, babbling apologies, as she stood there, statuelike and unbreathing, for several long moments.
Remember. To. Breathe. The thought came from somewhere, and spurred her to reaction. She threw her back her head and screamed, back arching to the point where the tip of her long braid brushed the ground behind her. "NOOOOOOO! KYLE!" One hand was flung heavenwards, a bolt of blue-white energy blasting from it, straight up into the cloudless sky.
She never even noticed the messenger throw himself to the ground at the blast, as she whirled away, blue eyes wild. As she took several running steps for the front gate, her form shifted and shimmered, and the last he saw of her was a red-furred blur that looked remarkably like a lynx.
A heartbroken yowl echoed down the street as she ran blindly for the forest, searching for somewhere she could vent her anguish without hurting someone.
As he stood, brushing himself off, the merc muttered to himself, "Carl, old man, the boss better give us hazard pay for this one."
It had been a rough two months.
She had almost died saving the life of a friend. Then the memories she had believed in for seven years were proven to be false, and she had to deal with the grief that her real memories brought her. Last of her race, and in a way, responsible for the death of all her people, her memories had been blocked to prevent her from taking her life. No sooner had she finally come to terms with the newly-awakend pain of her memories, with the help of her friends, than this newest shock had hit.
Kyle. Dear Kyle. They'd planned such a life together. He was going to open a weapons training school, and she would be a herbalist and healer. This town of Aden had been a perfect place for her to settle and make a home for them. A strange mix of magical and mundane beings of many races lived and visited here, so a shapeshifter with the gift of Healing would not have been an oddity.
And now her husband was dead, and so were her dreams.
Perhaps she should join him, and finish wiping her race from existence. For long moments, she toyed with the idea ... then discarded it. She had too many new friends depending on her, and she would not let them down.
Slowly, Tamara stretched, and flexed her ... paws? <*Oh, yeah. I shifted into lynx form in there, didn't I? Well, I can cover ground faster this way, and I'd guess I ran about 7 miles before I collapsed here.*> She levered herself to all fours, braced her paws, and shook vigorously, sending stray leaves and twigs that had been tangled in her red fur hither and yon.
Short, powerful legs ate up the ground between the woods and Arden. At long last, she passed between the pillarlike gateposts that led to Black Iris's Boarding House. A welcoming aura seemed to emanate from the house, making her realize she had made the right choice. She was home.
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