Today has been a very trying day. I do not quite know what to make of it. I am upset, confused, uncertain and feeling less safe now than before, if that is possible.
Everything started off well enough.
I awoke before dawn, bathed in the small lake, brushed my hair, washed and changed my clothes and made a small breakfast from a cache of nuts I had discovered the evening before. As the sun began to rise, I crouched at the edge of the lake and waited for the tell-tale shadows of the fish moving sluggishly below the surface. It is easy enough to fish with ones hands, although in such chilly weather the water can make ones fingers stiff. I checked my snares for squirrels or rabbits, but found none. Such is my routine now.
It was during the afternoon that things changed.
The Ranger came to visit me. I am slowly beginning to find myself more comfortable in his company, although I do not trust him yet. He knows this and keeps his distance, neither pressing me for information or pushing his presence upon me. Indeed, he makes it very clear at each visit that he will leave should I give him the slightest hint that I wish it so.
We talked a while. He told me more of himself and I discovered some things about him that, perhaps, he did not wish for me to know. Still, the hints were all there, words spoken at this and previous meetings that when put together give a more complete picture as to the man who hides himself in plain sight.
I know what he seeks from me now. Company, someone to share his secrets and pass no judgement on his actions, someone to talk to about that which he conceals from others, someone to know. I find it strange that he desires the conversation and understanding of a person who does not fear him, and yet he comes to me: I who fear almost everyone equally.
We walked from my small lake to a much larger one nearby in which small islands sit afloat beneath the evening sky. It is beautiful there, moreso perhaps than here, but it is open to the lands and less easy to conceal oneself from passers-by.
We spoke of fear and longing. His more than mine, for he already knows what I long for and what I fear. We spoke of his past, his purpose, his desire for a future. It is then, I think, that it all went wrong.
It was my fault. I know this. His reassurances that he meant me no harm, his distance and lonliness, his refusal to press any issue and desire to make me more comfortable around him all lent me a false sense of security, of bravery.
I stepped close to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and turned him to face me. I reached up further to pull the hood back to his shoulders. I did it to prove a point. I did it to show to him that he had no need to hide, not from me or anyone else. I did it to convince him that if he stopped hiding, if he stopped running, then perhaps he would find that which he yearned for the most. It was a lesson and a lesson only, but it went too far.
I should have stepped away again once the hood was lowered. I should have gone back to my comfortable distance, but I did not and that gave him encouragement that I had not intended. The mistake was mine. I am at fault. He leaned in to kiss me then, but stopped short as I flinched and pulled away. He left then with an apology, telling me that he was unlikely to return.
Perhaps I should have stopped him. Perhaps I should have explained. But how could I do so when I can barely admit these things to myself? How could I explain my reasons for being petrified of something as normal as a touching of lips? How could I speak to him, or anyone, of all the terrible images and memories that something other people believe to be so small, so innocent, conjures up in my mind? I could not, and so he departed.
Later, Baradar sought me out.
The experience with the Ranger had left me so shaken, so muddled, that I found myself talking to him about it... and then of some of the things that had occured to make me as I am. I gave no details but still I spoke more of it than ever I have before. He was kind about it... after I managed to dissuade him from killing all the brigands in Bree-land anyway. What is it with men and wanting to kill everyone?
There are some things he said to me that I should remember: "Physical scars heal. It's the ones in your head we need to fix, but you're not broken. You're battered, bruised and scarred but not broken, else you'd have lost your mind."
I know not if those words are true.. but a part of me wishes to cling to them.
Before he lay down to sleep, I asked him to take Baecere's harp back to the house for me. He agreed, promising that it will be returned to its rightful owner. That, then, is one weight off my mind. But what of the others?
He did not come today. I am thankful for that for he brings with him a confusion of his own, whether he means to do so or not. I need no more of them this day. Still, I find myself looking forward to his return.
