Feverish, colourfully vivid dreams where the sea was too blue, the meadows too green, and the marigold flowers too bright an orange. She saw his unruly head, the crooked white teeth in a mouth pulled back into a cheeky boyish smile, and an imp dancing in those mud-green eyes. An outstretched hand grabbed hers and pulled her along, and they ran, ran across the meadow, stumbling and gasping and laughing, until they reached the old yew at the top of the hill. Below them, the sea sparkled and shimmered in every shade of green and blue.
"You and me, Mira. You and me." His voice was husky.
She smiled at him and he cradled her head in his hands and kissed her on the lips with a tenderness that left her gasping.
She felt the roughness of his fingertips, the warmth and softness of his breath; breathed in the smoky smell of the forge, of leather and heated metal and ash.
That smell, good heavens, how could she have forgotten it?
She took his right hand and planted a kiss on his scarred back.
And she felt the happiness spread again to the tips of her toes.
She'd forgotten what it felt like to be truly happy.
It was so real, surely it had to be?
Then it hit her, the gaping emptiness. The longing and the homesickness.
Kit.
Home.
Kit was her home.
Always had been. Always would be.
Clouds gathered over the gnarled branches of the yew tree and a clap of thunder ripped through the sky. No, it was not thunder, but cannons, and fire, fire everywhere, burning everything, including Kit.
"Kit!"
She screamed his name, but there was a void, a staring black void where he had stood a moment ago, with such unbridled joy and tenderness in his eyes.
He was gone.
Again, the thunder.
She put her hands to her ears and whimpered.
Her whole body shook so violently that the metal frame of the bed shook with her.
A dream. It was only a dream.
But outside, it was as if the gates of hell had opened.
He took her in his arms and held her tightly, rocking her back and forth, to make her forget her bad dreams and her fear of thunderstorms.
"Hush now, Mira, hush. It will pass soon."
No one had done that for a long time.
She’d had to do it herself. Her arms wrapped around her torso, but it wasn't quite the same.
Her hands shook as she hastily wiped her wet cheeks and jumped out of bed to close the small attic window that had been thrown open, letting a gust of rain and wind into the small room. It took her three tries.
With trembling hands, she lit a lamp, went to the chest of drawers, pulled out the bottom drawer and rummaged through it. In a small bag, carefully wrapped in a cotton handkerchief, was a small wooden box containing her valuables. Where was it? She hadn't looked at it for months. She hadn't lost it, had she? A sob escaped her. She rummaged through it, her fingers stumbling over cold iron. She clasped the small iron ring and pressed it to her cheek.
The only bit of Kit she had left.
