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I woke with a start, my chest and heart felt like they were being crushed in a vice. It hurt so much. I tried to take a few steadying breaths, to force air into my constricted lungs. Slowly I regained the capacity to breathe, to think. To remember. Not that it did me any good, since remembering brought all the pain and grief sleep had kept at bay to the forefront. I tried to push it away, to erect a barrier between myself and it, but to no avail. A week. Seven days. That’s how long it had been since he disappeared. I had spent all of that time curled up in a bed, either sleeping, plagued by nightmares or staring sightlessly in front of myself, lost in memories. Pathetic. I knew the others worried about me, and sometimes spoke about me as if I weren’t there, or couldn’t hear them. I could, and sometimes I even listened to what they were saying, especially when I needed a brief respite from the crushing grief.

The room was flooded in soft yellow light, the first rays of the sun bathing the floorboards in a golden hue. It was such a cheerful and warm colour that I wanted to laugh. Bitterly. It was such a stark contrast to what was going on inside of me. But instead of laughing, I rose from the bed for the first time in a week. The golden glow of dawn may have been painfully cheerful, and I was anything but, yet a part of me craved the warmth and happiness it promised. Anything to lighten up the darkness that shrouded my mind. I took a few steps, hesitating just at the edge of where light met shadow before stepping fully into the light. At this early hour, everyone else was asleep and so I had this moment entirely to myself. I don’t know how long I stood there and allowed myself to be bathed in sunlight, but it felt like an eternity. Unfortunately, the sun could not thaw the ice within, but it still felt nice against my cold skin, still clammy from my nightmares. 

I turned to head back inside and a note on the bedside table caught my attention. I didn’t recognise the handwriting, but the words scrawled on the piece of parchment made me feel completely encased in ice once again.

‘Shadeclaw: Either realm of earth -or- fire. Low chance of survival. Attempted to reawaken mountain as suspected, for standard Twilight motives. Sacrificed to Elune as disposal.’

A part of me wanted to cry and howl at what the words implied, that my love was trapped in one of the elemental planes without any real hope of survival. I wanted to rage and scream at the Goddess for allowing this to happen, for making me suffer again and again. Yet I did none of those things. Instead, I just returned the note to the nightstand and left. I didn’t go very far, just across the road and to the inn. I snuck up the ramps, silent as a shadow until I reached the upper floor of the building and the door to his room. I gave the door an experimental push, expecting to find it locked, but it slid open without a sound and I slipped inside. The room was exactly as he had left it, as -we- had left it, the morning before he was taken from me. My eyes were drawn to the little details that spoke to me of his presence, that he had been here, had lived here, just a few short days ago. The books on herbology and fungi that were stacked on his desk, the collection of herbs and antivenom that sat just beside the books, the armour stand with his scouting armour in one corner of the room and the old bow leaned against the wall next to it. My gaze swept over it all, taking note of everything from the books, herbs and armour, to a small stack of letters and a journal I hadn’t seen before. But before I could head over to the desk to pick it up, my gaze snagged on the bed. The sheets were still a bit rumpled, as if the occupant had fully intended to come back to it shortly, and scattered on top of the sheets were several pieces of clothing. The clothing he had worn just before we left on that fateful mission.

With trembling fingers, I picked up the shirt and buried my face in it, the fabric soft against my cheek. I inhaled shakily and the memory of his scent I imagined still clung to the fabric brought tears to my eyes. I allowed them to fall. I allowed myself that moment of private grief. There would be no room for it later. So I cried and muffled my sobs and wails with the pillows on the bed. All the while I clutched Sal’hilan’s shirt to my breast as if it would somehow bring him back to me. I cried until the tears had run dry and my voice was hoarse. When there was nothing left but emptiness I finally made my way over to the desk to pick up the journal. As I had never seen the item before, I assumed it was private and thus I couldn’t quite bring myself to open it. Not yet. Perhaps in a few weeks or months from now, when the grief would once again be too heavy to bear. Perhaps then I would dare to open the journal, and hopefully, its contents would bring some much-needed solace…or just more pain. But until then the journal would remain private, unopened.

I swept my gaze across the room one final time, taking it all in once again. It had been his room for a long time, and for the last few months, I had been allowed to share this private space. It remained his room, but it also contained many shared memories now, both beautiful and painful. Eventually, I turned my back to it all and stepped outside. As I closed the door behind me, a wall was erected inside my mind as well. A wall to keep the unbearable sorrow from overwhelming me and to help me keep a clear head in the days, weeks and months to come. I took only two things from that room, the shirt and the journal. The rest remained locked behind the door, just as my feelings would remain safely locked behind the wall in my mind. As I left the inn and Sal’hilan’s room behind I made a promise to myself, and Sal’hilan, that I would find a way to bring him back home. Somehow. But for now, my Sentinels needed me clearheaded and strong, and I would not fail them.