Sicarra sat at a desk in her room, with a quill and ink, writing in the journal in front of her. The words pool onto the pages like blood. The leather-bound journal is a small treasure, her daughter, an even greater one. These pages are sacred. It is here she can have a voice like no other. She did not aspire to be an author or anyone remarkable. Writing, was just another tool, something she could use when she was stuck or grieving. How long had it been since she sent Flynagin out to look? Two weeks? Three weeks? It seemed like a logical choice, he offered and it would keep the young man away from Tars for a little while. She thought by giving him something to do, something meaningful, that it would keep him from starting fights he could not finish.
There was no word.
Nothing.
Kaes said that she needed to let these things out. So that she could be strong later.
This is what she is trying to do at this moment.
Sicarra didn't know what was worse.
That she may have left a young man to a cruel fate.
Or not knowing if her daughter is dead or alive.
This was a different kind of silence and right now it is Maddening.
And if she is not careful it will eat her alive.
