Then Fern rose and rounded the end of the table, standing beside Viv, still seated on the bench. The orc eyed her with confusion.
Fern raised both paws, palm up, in a gesture made to her only a month ago on an autumn road. She swallowed thickly. “Would you put your hands on mine, please?”
Viv didn’t question her, but gently placed her vast palms face-down upon Fern’s upturned ones, dwarfing them.
It took a moment to work the moisture back into her mouth. “I beg your forgiveness for the words I did not say,” Fern began, trying to remember Astryx’s phrasing exactly. “I beg your patience for the ways I failed you. I don’t expect it, but crave and strive for your regard.”
“Fern. It’s okay. You have it,” said Viv, thickly.
“I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t trust you with the truth,” sobbed Fern, and burst into messy tears.
Viv enfolded her in her massive arms, and they stayed that way for a long while.
“Potroast!” cried Fern.
She’d thought she’d done enough sobbing for one day, but it turned out that there was still room for more.
The gryphet barked and shimmied at the sight of her as she stood in the open entryway of Thistleburr with arms outstretched.
If anything, he was rounder than before, with a little more silver in his fur, but his great golden eyes were clear and joyful.
He barreled toward her and had his forepaws on her chest in moments, licking her snout frantically, whining and hooting his delight.
“I’m sorry to you, too, little man,” she whispered in his ear, kissing his forehead feathers.
Tandri stood open-mouthed with shock at the counter, a book in hand. Viv ducked into the shop behind Fern, edging around their teary reunion on the doormat and easing the door closed against the hard cold.
Fern barely registered the murmured conversation the two women had while she soothed Potroast and, if she was honest, herself.
Cal, predictably, found her later in the evening, after all the fuss. At least this time, it was on the front step instead of in the alley.
Fern sat on a stool beside the front door of the closed shop, wearing a heavy blue winter cloak that she’d dug out of her old things, with her ears tucked into a crocheted hat that she knew made her look ridiculous.
The shop didn’t feel like hers anymore, and though they’d left her room alone and urged her to reclaim it—at least for now—it seemed like trespassing to sleep there. She hadn’t decided what to do about that yet.
Finding a nice suite at an inn would be easy enough. She’d eventually given in and checked the contents of the purse Astryx had given her. The amount still seemed incomprehensible, and not at all deserved.
She glanced at Legends & Lattes, its windows still aglow. Viv and Tandri awaited her inside with Potroast. There was plenty left to discuss, and a great many arrangements to be made.
“Well,” said Cal. He was wrapped in a muffler and a heavy woolen peacoat, stamping in the cold as he sidled up to join her. “Heard you were back.”
“I guess I am. It’s really good to see you, Cal. I’m sorry about all the worry.”
Shewas,but Fern also thought she was wrung out of sorrow for a while, like a rag twisted dry.
“Hm.” This was one of his more aggrieved inflections.
Under the circumstances, it seemed warranted. “Worry” was a terrific understatement for what she’d made them endure.
Fern reached out a mittened paw. Cal took it in his own bare hand, and she squeezed.
“You gave me some very good advice,” she said. “I’m sorry it took me a little longer than it should have to finally take it.”
“Ah. Well, just so long’s you got there in the end.”
She nodded. “I’ll be leaving again. Not just yet. I have some things to do first.” She thought of the satchel full of pages and all the missing pieces yet to be added. “But at some point, I’m going to be going. I’m not sure for how long.”
“Appreciate knowin’ beforehand,” he said, with quiet earnestness.
