I have spent all day creating salves and potions for all manner of ailments. Working constantly prevented me from thinking too much or, as the truth would have it, worrying.
I paused in the creation of medicines, however, to complete a charm I have been creating for the past few days. A good-luck charm for a specific recipient. Having caught my own tears in a small vial some days past, I had left the stoppered container on the table before a window each night to rest beneath the silvered moonlight in order to increase its potency. Finally, today, I judged it ready and, using a lock of my own hair, bound the vial closed before stringing it upon a silver cord.
It was as I was placing it away for giftng to him upon a later date that Cyfier came into the house. I was highly surprised to see him there and more than a little uncomfortable for, having not long made dinner for Arugru, I had stripped my hands bare of their gloves that they might be cleaned.
I have no idea how long he may have been standing there; he was so silent as he watched me. I did not even hear him enter and Arugru had given no warning either. Nevertheless, I greeeted him as I normally would, apprehensive at his presence yet still pleased by it.
We spoke briefly. His prediction that everything will change tomorrow, and that he fears his coming actions will result in the ending of our friendship, were more than a little ominous. I feel dread at the discovery I soon must make if his words are true. Perhaps, then, this is why he came to me? One last chance to feel welcomed? I am uncertain as to his reasons, but I am thankful that he chose this evening. If this was to be our last meeting as friends, then I could not let it pass by without bestowing upon him my gifts.
The first, I was unsure that he would accept. It took much for me to raise my ungloved hands to his cheeks, laying skin against skin so very lightly, but I felt that it needed to be done. This was, to me, important enough to warrant a lack of cloth between my palms and his bearded features. I had expected him to push me away, or else pull back himself, when I pressed my lips to his own. I was certainly not expecting him to tenderly return my kiss. Nor was I expecting to leave him speechless as I explained my motives. This was the gift of memory; something to cherish in dark times and warm him when he needs it the most.
The second gift was the charm. When I told him that it was meant to keep him safe, he thought that I meant in body or mind. Whilst he is far more violent than I would wish, and his thoughts far darker than I can understand, I know that he is far from insane and more than capable of physical survival. This trinket, instead, was made for his heart and spirit, both of which suffer greatly from his long-time disregard for them. It is a simple item, but one with much meaning and, I think, he understood that for he accepted it gladly and placed it safely in a leather pouch inside his breastplate.
When he departed only moments later, I thought I saw some yearning within his eyes, some indiscernable sadness. He asked if he may return later this eve and I could not but say yes. If this is to be the last of our friendship, I do not want to let it go with such careless ease that I would refuse his return.
It has been some time now and the sky beyond the window begins to dim. I find myself watching the door at times, willing it to open and for him to be standing there. I watch and I wait, sitting a vigil against the morning light. I watch and I wait, tredpidation closing its cold clammy claws about my heart for the man I might meet in the days ahead.
