For a Song Pt. 12

I warm and glowing and sparking and everything doesn't make sense I don't want it to make sense. I love it. It's good and whole and complete. It needs nothing except maybe a tall glass of water to wash away the morning.

I shiver as we start to break apart. Gawain shivers too. The draft is back. That's terrible. I don't like it. If I ever get a wall of my own, I will eradicate all drafts with extreme prejudice. I will have brick walls and a big fireplace and reading nook. And maybe a nice tea caddy.

Eliza kisses my nose and Gawain kisses the base of my horn. I kiss his chin and Eliza's cheek. Done. I am done for now. I look to Eliza and let my eyes glace down her body again. To my surprise, she shakes her head, not now, although I feel like I'm taking advantage of her. Everything should be reciprocated and even, but I think this is just a deferred payment. She'll take hers later, when there is space and room and an endless night sky to howl again. That and her stomach growls. Fair. Always a hard choice between sex and food. She chose food. Not what I would have gone with, but I can follow the logic.

"Kids," Mutti calls, "If you're done, I need some help. Gluhna's passed out on the floor, and I need to roll her and her friend out to the gutter."

---

The wind's picking up again. It's cold and biting and terrible. It's sharp, cutting and mean. I don't like it. The jacket knows I don't like it, it does a wonderful job of keeping it away from me and I love it. I'm thinking it might be good with some patches on the elbows, just to add a touch of sophistication to the whole affair, but that's for later. We need to get moving now. Gluhna wasn't the only one still loitering. The drunk, Erato, had to be shuffled off as well. They were cuddling in the street the last I saw. Good for them.

I am cuddling vertically with my mother in the street. She gives good hugs. She puts the horn in the right place on my shoulder. Nothing to poke or prod or pierce really. It stands there and holds there and smells blatantly newly honed. Mine's already starting to dull and chip. I'll take care of it when I get the chance.

"You be good," she mutters.

"No," I reply as I kiss her forehead.

"Good. That was a test. You passed. Never be good. Be bad but be smart about it."

"Always."

She squeezes me a bit more and it is one of the best I've ever had. She smells like lilac. We break and there's a tear in her eye. It's a good tear. She wipes it and it's gone. It's a good sad. It's a good thing to have this sorrow settle in her chest and hold her heart still.

"Are you going to be ok here?" I ask.

"Don't you start," She sighs, "I wasn't born here, but I'll die here. Just to inconvenience you. I'll be laughing in my grave while you trek through a Shoar winter."

I purse my lips and that gets a small smile from her. Good. My long con played out. I want to see her smile before I leave. It's not that hard to do, but still. It suits her better. It suits me better. It doesn't suit the weather, but the weather can kiss my ass.

"I probably have one more winter in me," she says, "Then I'll probably go somewhere else. I'll let you know. Maybe pay Kay and his new wife a visit. I finally get to be a mother-in-law and that is a fun thought."

"Criticize her cooking?"

"Say that she's not good enough for Kay?"

"Maybe just refuse to help out around the house and demand more wine all the time?"

"That's happening no matter how bitchey I decide to be. But how about you? Are you planning another journey to nowhere in particular?"

"Not really. Eliza's setting course and we're heading back to a town she campaigned for when she was in the army. That sounds like a good time. Says she has some property there."

"Good. It will do you some good to stay still for a while. Probably. Maybe. I don't know."

"You're really good at the motherly advice."

"'I'm really not. You should smoke dragon grass and drink and sleep around more. Don't attend church. In fact, maybe piss off the church again, so I can come visit and help this time."

I kiss her forehead again and that leads to another tight hug. Her shawl is soft. Her wrinkles are pulled tight for the most part. A crow foot and laugh lines. She looks young. I'm not sure what all last night did to her, but it was good. Gave her a fun little bounce in her step. One last little peck on the cheek and I think it's time for me to turn away.

I do. I do and it hurts so beautifully. Its sorrow and pain and such a bittersweet knot in the back of throat. I don't mind it at all. I roll it around on my tongue and let it settle in my stomach. It gives me an odd bounce too. I wave behind me. It hurts too. Mutti waves back and I keep walking.

Gawain and Eliza are waiting for me. My kweh bird is all gussied and girdled up and I can't wait to get back in the saddle. My bird ruffles her feathers and squawks quietly. Eliza huffs and Gawain keeps gesturing to the open road. It's waiting for him. It's waiting for her. It's waiting for me.

"Took you long enough," Eliza grumbles.

"Yes, yes, I'm a terrible person. I love my mom dearly and had a hard time saying goodbye. I should be jailed for that," I say.

"Whipped at least," Gawain, "Put in shackles and paraded through town."

"We can try all of that when we stop, but in the interest of fairness, I think we should all take turns. Who knows? Might turn you on to something."

"No," Eliza says, "No shackles. I 'm not doing any of that."

"And that's the end of that, "I say, "Now I think we're waiting on you now. So, I guess it's all even."

Eliza huffs but she hoists her reigns and starts the charge down the road. Gawain follows, a bit more leisurely. I take one more moment, one more second to bask in stillness. The chill in the air has frozen my joints. I tap my thigh and something shatters. I kick my heels in the flanks and we're off. The bird kwehs softly. She seems happy to be moving again. I don't blame her. It is nice to be moving. It is nice to not be still. I find the march pleasing. I am happy, for some odd reason. It can't be Eliza's and Gawain's combined assets on display riding on a saddle. That's fun.

My fingers start tapping at the reigns and there is a bit of a tune carried on the wind. Slow and meandering.

"Can't you see.

The innocent may find the way.

Wise men lose track of the single path.

No one knows tomorrow," I sing. A lone white rabbit crosses our path before slipping back into its burrow. I lose the track and don't care to pick it back up.

---

I sit in bed, somewhat cold. Dead of winter, so that's to be expected to some degree. The thick blankets and the smoldering ashes on the wall definitely help. No drafts and that's the best part. Never had a draft in the past handful of years I've been here. It's not a castle. It's a manor. Must have gotten those particular little facts wrong. Not quite the promise, but still more than I hoped.

I hear her in the other room and that does make me feel like an ass. She's going through the motions of her body, working out the stiffness and the cobwebs and keeping herself in her favored shape. I'm lying in bed, slowly becoming more and more and more like a sack of potatoes. I imagine I'll be a bit more active when Kay and my as yet unknow nephew come by with the kweh birds. A ranch seems like a lot of work.

"Dumile," Eliza calls, "You have five minutes before I kick you out of bed."

"I'll just sleep on the floor."

"I've moved the rugs. You'll be on the cold wood."

Such a tactical genius, I've tied a knot with. Not the knot, but something akin to it. The other part of said tangle hasn't come home yet. I swing my legs off the bed and listen to Eliza lay out her plans for the day through the walls. She's hunting a bear, it seems. Something's eaten a few too many sheep and a bear seems likely this time of year. They graze near a big patch of huckleberries. I worry, mostly for the bear. Little bit for her, but that's just how I am. I am also ready for the day, more or less.

I hear the door open and that's the other half of our little trio just coming in. I hear him yawn. I hear him fall into Eliza, and I watch her slowly cradle him down to our sofa. As much as she likes holding him, she still likes her hands on her scythe. Eliza's all business now, giving me just a chaste kiss on the crown of my head and completely ignoring my wandering hands. She waves me off and I am left to hen peck and nag my other better half.

Gawain's gained a bit of weight. Some in the arms, more in the hips, but never quite anything bad on the whole. He's tired and sleepy and exhausted. He's collapsed on our sofa, one boot still on

"Why am I always the night guard," he whines. I take his cloak and peck his cheek. I have no answers. I just have comfort to offer.

"Do you want something to eat?" I say, "We still have some bacon, I think."

Food, every person I love is motivated solely by food. I've promised bangers and mash tonight and that made them both very happy last night. I don't think it's a problem, but it's an odd pattern I've noticed. Not that I'm any different. I can be swayed to do almost anything for a good honey cake.

"No," he sighs, "Just a bed. And a warm. And maybe a bath."

"Bed's warmed up," I say, "I can draw a bath if you want."

"Like I said, maybe a bath. And if you're heading out then I can wait."

He grunts and sighs and puts on the airs of terrible aging, but he still gets up to his feet with a bit of a flourish. He likes to show off. He yawns again and makes a mission out of finding our cat. He squeaks a bit with I slap his ass, but we'll have time enough for that later. They've made themselves useful, so I guess it's my turn. Like any responsible husband, I'm heading down to the tavern, right at the deepest part of our new valley home. I sing there and people give me money. Heavens know why.