#alder 07

Most of Juneau’s scant earthly possessions were situated in drawers, shelves, under floorboards, and in the shadowy corners of Julian’s cabin in Haven. What little else she owned remained on the nearly bare shelves of her small bedroom in Jamie’s home. Even so, she felt compelled to return to the Stumble Inn upon the return from Iskaldrik. The Innkeeper would not let Juneau hear the end of it if the wily blonde never showed up to prove she was still alive, and who knew what state the garden was in after the stretch of neglect. But it wasn’t home to Juneau any longer. 

She had cleared out the few items that she and Alder had carried on their backs into Lysara from their shared room at the Stumble Inn months ago and what they had accumulated as a pair since, but she had stopped living there months ago upon returning from the Kossith ship. Alder’s scent lingered in the room, memories settled into the floorboards, but so did his absence. Juneau clung to the items that reminded her of Alder, scolding those who were too curious about them or who threatened to tarnish the memories or scents that still clung to them. 

It was not altogether uncommon during her stay at the Stumble Inn that the dim candle light would cast shadows at just the right slant that a stranger’s back appeared to her as Alder. But when she drew closer or they stepped into better lighting it never yielded anything but disappointment. She suspected her haunting of this old stomping ground this evening would be no different, thus she ignored the familiar frame in the corner of her peripheral vision for as long as she could. The surly little thief denied herself hope, reminding herself that the phantom scene of Alder had duped her many times before–she would not allow the rug to be pulled from under her now. 

But as the figure turned and she was afforded an uninterrupted view it became clear that the sense of familiarity was not the betrayal of memory or a trick of the light–Alder stood in the inn’s tavern material and real. Juneau’s expression darkened, then softened, then broke as she maintained eye contact. Without thinking, spurred on my pure reflex, her feet carried her in his direction with such conviction that her footfalls were audible to their sensitive hearing over the din of the crowd. One small fist lifted as she came within an arm’s reach, lifting and then arcing downward with a dull thud as she slammed it against his chest. And then the other hand, again and again and again as the color in her cheeks rose and her glassy eyes reflected the flicker of the candles overhead. Her assault might have broken the rib of someone lesser, but as creatures of equal constitution her fists were little more than mere annoyances–and she didn’t mean to hurt Alder regardless, but rather to display the tempest of her fury over what she perceived as being abandoned.