Sareva stood where she was after Aeonid left. Breathing, just breathing. She wanted to think about Narys, about what she wanted to try to show her after that terrible incident with her former lover, Dagramir. However, her thoughts clung jealously to her own situation, all clamouring at once for attention, moments on top of each other in a muddled pile. Talking, his sorrow, be wary, embracing him, tea, her fear, his worry, his feelings for Narys, a hand on his shoulder, the man that he was, protect yourself, his arms, trepidation, exhilaration, doubt, conflict, care, hurt, joy, fear, confusion……
…his kiss.
Numb legs carried her to the bench where she had set down her cup. The little bit of tea in the bottom was cold. She turned the cup in her hand, trying to strain the thoughts, but they would not be tamed. They sounded out like a bunch of ducks in a pond, each squawking its point, the cacophony of it all overwhelming. Deciding the only way to silence was sleep, she gulped down the rest of the tea to drown whatever it was in her stomach that was causing it to do somersaults, putting the cup on the table to deal with tomorrow. Next to the nearby chair, Aeo’s cup sat nearly untouched.
Sareva poured the tea over the fire, diminishing the lowering flame to glittering embers and releasing a whiff of lavender. With the second cup having joined the first, she crawled into bed in the dress she was wearing, not having the presence of mind to change into a nightgown. However, sleep was elusive. She stared at the wall in the flickering of a candle’s light as the soft tendrils of slumber caressed her, promising to embrace her if she would let them, only to have them fended off each time by the mess in her mind. Happiness, worry, confusion...
There was nothing for it; there was no getting rest that way, or possibly at all that night. With the aid of the candle, she made her way to the shop. Inside, she didn't try to sift through the thoughts but pushed them away, and there they behaved. She immediately sighed, feeling more at ease even with her proper posture and the stoic expression on her face. After lighting a small fire, she began work once again, using the thread she'd bought in Bree that afternoon. In her mind, her thoughts were laid out in a circle around her. She observed them, silent; logic, instincts, even the emotions she could evaluate without attachment or preference, feeling none and judging equally. The internal debate started as it usually did…
When the morning light finally peeked through the shop windows, the day found Sareva sound asleep. Her arms hugged a would-be shirt under her head, the rumpled pile of cloth forming a makeshift pillow. She groaned sleepily when the edge of the light reached her lidded eyes and waved a hand weakly as if to swat the annoyance away. Eventually blinking awake, she squinted around the room. The first shirt she’d finished the previous night was folded at the end of the table, while the second, in its last stages, had served as the cushion for her head. She’d have to hang it. And maybe plant some lavender.
As she waded through the grogginess of the early morning to the main room, she noticed she felt better. She still didn’t know what she would do, exactly, but her thoughts were calmer and she could feel each emotion acutely without a wave of all the others. Memories came and went, and the feelings they evoked were no less contradictory than the night before. But that was alright; she was alright. And she would figure out what to do eventually.
