Found:
Best not to dwell on it, I said. Words spoken to Neyaa upon the familiar stoop of the White Wolf tavern.
And I don't. I can't.
I would be lying if I claimed that I don't think of him sometimes, that my mind doesn't roam northwards to the grasslands in the quiet hours, that I don't worry for his safety, fear for his health - both body and mind - and that I don't wonder if he's found his peace or if he's happier now. I would be lying if I said that I don't recall the way he used to be and the way he has become. I would be lying if I said I don't think of the feel of his hand so gently at my hip and his lips against mine, only to turn my thoughts to his hand clamped around my throat and the cruel words hissed into my face.
I would be lying if I said I felt no anger, no sorrow, no confusion or guilt, no understanding, no forgiveness. I feel all of these things and more. But most of all, I just feel terrified for him.
Best not to dwell on it. I'll never see him again anyway.
I've myself to concentrate upon. The puzzle pieces still don't fit together properly. I can't make them. I find myself often dour of late, uninterested in the world and people around me. I speak when spoken to, but I don't seek company as I used to. I take my rest within the rooms of Seaver's tavern, but I don't spend time in the crowded common room nor sing or dance or drink so much as a sip of mulled wine.
I'm in a state of between. Between one life and the next. Between one vocation and the next. Between one identity and... two others. It's all so very complicated, ethereal like smoke drifting between my fingers, and ultimately new to me.
Who am I really?
