Ami shuddered once more and opened her eyes.
For a moment, she blinked into the darkness.
True dawn met her gaze now – the night had been windy, and the curtain held by a vine had slowly slipped aside.
It felt as though she hadn't slept at all, but clearly, that wasn't true. She didn't know how long she'd been out, but it felt dreadfully short.
The Kantinian coughed wearily.
…For bog's sake…
Everything hurt. Nothing helped.
Legs burning. Head throbbing. The bruises ached. What a state to be in. How many lights in a row could this go on?
"Apparently, indefinitely."
As long as we have the strength for such escapades.
The wanderer sat up on her improvised "bed".
The rags lay scattered around the makeshift pallet. Evidently, they hadn't warmed her this light. But there was no choice; her usual bedding and blanket were surely still damp.
"Why hadn't she moved all this stuff, now on the floor, onto the vacant bed?"
"She'd been knackered. Well done for at least dragging herself home."
Yes. If it weren't for work, she'd probably have slept three lights straight.
Nausea, repairs, laundry. Too many things had happened. Everything in full force, courtesy of the bountiful Universe.
Why bother coping with yesterday when it never truly ended?
Two earthen lumps from the street sat practically beneath the half-collapsed drape, near the mud-caked boots. At least she had a kind of armour now. The bag needed washing too. She just had to fish out the couple of roots Lavy had shoved into her hand yesterday as comradely assistance. He'd said they were valuable.
And… It was laundry time again… Later. Now, back to the old routine.
Ami carefully—as much as her clumsy, sleep-stiffened, aching body allowed—groaning and puffing, hauled herself together and stood up. She pulled on new boots and clothes from the pile.
Then, shuffling, she gathered the heavy, dirty clothes and boots and headed for the nearest wide stream.
Bending over to fix the drapes took immense effort, and she stopped several times just to catch her breath. Helpless tears welled up.
…Utterly alone with all of it. No one would help.
Normal people shared burdens with their whole family.
"Which adds new burdens to the common basket. Everything has its price."
Yes. It was her choice and a way to save her nerves. Nothing was perfect. All methods had drawbacks.
Finished with the washing, the loner struggled to her feet, straightened up with another groan, and sighed, heading for home and then to the Temple.
By the time she reached work, she'd loosened up a bit. She felt a little better.
Movement no longer brought sharp pain; her gait lost its shuffle and pained grunts.
The templar entered the Station and headed for Milo's office. Swift access to her office and a life-saving dose of coffee. That's what she needed.
— Ami, — the boss began, not unkindly, when she came in. — You look… wrung out. To put it mildly. Are you unwell again?
— Yes! My whole life's crashed since those recent boggy events. My home is a swampy mess. And I don't have the time or strength to tidy up.
Milo shook his head and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
— Almost everyone's on patrol or out of the city this light. Take a light off.
— Oh! Thank you! — Ami brightened. — It's all I need now.
She gestured vaguely.
— Milo, tell me, where can I get some glue, paint, and mud-striders?
— What a set. Try the Market near the Yellow Mushroom.
— Thanks again. I'm off.
She practically leaped out of the boss's office. What a gift from fate.
If only every light were like this. Roam the woods and city instead of working. Like she used to do back in Kantine.
Lovely. There was still a lot to do, and her legs hadn't stopped aching. But it was still neat. A nip to the Market for mud-striders, paints, a thick darning hook, and some thread with glue. Wander around a little until exhaustion washed over her again. Then sleep. What a nice plan for this light.
"What about the funds?"
She'd pop home and fetch Leivy's roots. That should be enough. At least some good had come of all that suffering.
Though… truth be told, quite a lot of good had come of it lately. It was a sort of reset, bringing her to her senses. The redundant adrenaline was gone and life felt much easier. Physical pain and immense weariness were more habitual. She coped with that better.
The templar got home as fast as her tired body allowed, carefully ducked under the drape miraculously still hanging on by a corner, fetched the roots, and went back out.
…My poor kotti. What have I done to you?
She sneezed loudly in annoyance.
Needed to do something about this blooming cold... Buy some healing herbs, perhaps.
Amelia set off in search of the Yellow Market. After ambling a bit, she found it—a market under the large yellow mushroom.
It wasn't far, as it was near the warehouses. And closer to her kotti than she'd thought.
Good news, but still excessive walking. Well. So be it. It would be easier to get back home.
The Kantinian easily traded a root and some nuts for glue, thread, and a hook at the nearest trade-tent, then went off hunting for paints.
…So much fascinating stuff at this Market!
"Focus."
Right… Her thoughts tangled again. Couldn't hurt to buy some food. And look for mud-striders. If the funds allowed. And she needed some rags too.
"Look! There they are."
Yes.
But she had to wait a bit, loitering while a dapper Omillian bloke finished his barney.
Amelia leaned against some nearby crates and zoned out.
…The exhaustion made itself known, and she just stood there thoughtlessly, gormlessly staring at one spot.
Before she realised what the spot was: a fascinating bracelet on that quarrelsome customer's wrist, with some sort of green gnome-crystal.
…Soooo sparkly… Couldn't look away…
It wasn't polite, but the bloke, thankfully, was "occupied" with arguing.
Amelia had always been mesmerised by transparent gnome-stones.
She couldn't say she'd seen many of them, though.
…This one was dark green, like an overgrown lake… set in a hypnotically beautiful silvery bracelet with a wavy line and gleaming dots above and below it. So elegant. What a pattern…
Her legs buckled sharply. Shuddering, she jerked upright.
"Look away. Have some decency. Stop gawping."
The Kantinian coughed pointedly.
…Sorry, not sorry. Can't help it. Never seen such an exquisite bracelet. Where did they get it?
"The main question is where did they get the funds for it?"
Fortunately, the disgruntled owner of the wondrous jewellery finally departed with a loud sniff. The trader sighed in relief.
Amelia barely unstuck herself from the crates and sidled closer to the stall.
— Ghoul's spit, those bureaucrats are so gnatty!" the cloth merchant grumbled. — Think because they manage trade and warehouses here, they can get everything for nowt!
The Templewoman smiled sympathetically.
— Lovely bracelet he had, though.
— Did he? Didn't notice, — the trader waved dismissively.
Having acquired the long-waited rugs and almost everything she needed, the sleepy wretch finally headed home. It was great to do some shopping for a change. Her mood was slowly improving.
She even had some roots and nuts left. Smashing!
Enough for food and sweets until she got round to… or rather, was able to get back into the Forest.
This light had turned out lovely in the end. Some problems were sorted; the others would be fixed soon.
She smiled and coughed again.
"Oops. We forgot the herbs."
Well. Maybe the air would warm up and the cough would clear itself.
It would step back just as the depression had temporarily receded and a bit of strength had appeared.
"It's just a manic phase."
I don't need… the nerdy comments now. It feels nice and I'll just take it. That's all.
Having limped home and lugged the bag of glue and paints, the reluctantly industrious Amelia mustered the resolve to pop down to the stream, grabbing the kit bag and a soap nut.
Best to tackle the problems wholesale. Even with her last reserves.
Reaching the stream, she knelt with a sigh to assess the laundry. But she didn't start washing straight away because one of the luminaries, emerging from behind a cloud, scattered the water's surface with handfuls of glimmers that completely captured the attention of the sleepwalker in her borderline state.
…So beautiful.
It hypnotised her, causing her to temporarily forget about the laundry, the bruises on her knees, and her overall purpose for being there…
…Only when the sun hid behind the clouds again did the Kantinian manage to come to her senses, which had suffered from the night's excursions as much as her possessions had. After she lazily washed the belongings with the soap nut, the laundry smelled nicer, the clay had flaked off the boots, and no trace of berries remained on the bag either.
The templar wearily stuffed her things back into her bag and set off home, fine with the trickle of cold water soaking her sleeve and trouser leg. Later, most of the drapes ended up on the trees surrounding her kotti, like peculiar decorations.
But it was of little matter; her dwelling stood a bit off the beaten track, and potential observers of her barbaric lifestyle were very few.
Fortunately for the Kantinians' reputation—even if it would be unjust—her actions were never representative of her hometown. The Omillians themselves didn't need such comical tricks with decking out local flora with kit; they'd dry-clean things witchily and simply hang them back on the racks meant for storage.
…Witchery was so convenient.
And Amelia could only praise herself for resourcefulness.
She could be proud of herself, actually. If only she could. She had almost achieved the incredible, by her own standards.
Finished with the laundry, the reforming vandal cast a tired and sorrowful glance at the entrance drape, which was practically touching the ground.
...To do or not to do this, instead of resting on her only free light?
The hook, thread, glue. Then tuck the drape into her belt to climb up with it. Climb up, sew it on, glue it, pad it with a rag where it shouldn't stick to the roof. Tie a rope to the corner to yank it down once she was off the roof.
"And deal with a series of unforeseen difficulties, which always cropped up mid-process."
…No way she could cope with it in this state, but…
Sighing, she untied the vine and yanked at the entrance drape, cutting off her retreat. But instead of falling freely, it hung on, stubbornly clinging by one corner.
…Infuriating.
And moment later, she was wearily standing on the roof of the house with the drape tucked into her belt, trying to catch her breath. Her aching body was about to fail her.
"Why do everything on the last of your strength?"
"Because she's a masochist."
Stop it. I warn you.
"And what will you do?"
Is hysterics on the roof fine?
"No. It's not fine."
That's what I'm talking about.
The light was truly splendid.
It would be lovely to set up a resting spot up here. Fresh air, cracking view.
Might not be the best spot for drinks, but sitting here with food and a book could be a nice occupation. Back in Kantine, a roof garden used for rest was a common thing.
If Amelia ever had her own proper kotti, she'd definitely put a semi-circular bench up here on top. But… that was a thought for another time. Time to get on with repairs.
Ami sat on the cool roof, took the damaged fabric piece off her belt, pulled out thread and hook, and set about sewing the drape back onto the torn base, admiring the surroundings from time to time as she worked.
Lucky with the weather – no rain, a pleasant breeze blowing. And lucky twice over – the drape had torn in a way that left enough overlap for sewing and gluing.
The view of the street from here was interesting and… from an unusual angle. And what a strange, post-insomniac, unsettling déjà vu she had here…
…Like… seeing this before… But… standing… on another surface. A soft. Porous… Mushroom cap?..
…Oh, nonsense. Keep working.
She worked steadily until the stitching was done. Then she smeared the joins with glue for strength. She sat a little longer, resting and admiring the city, slightly pleased with the view and with herself.
Until… she looked down.
Amelia really loved views from heights. But the way down almost always ruined half the pleasure.
Her vivid imagination readily painted in gory detail what would happen if her foot slipped on the unreliable surface.
"Scary coming down sober, eh?"
Oh, shut up… Fancy more bruises now. Well. What goes up must come down.
Carefully, backwards, she slid down to the ground and thanked the Universe for remaining in one piece.
Ducking neatly under the now pleasingly intact drape once more, she stepped inside her kotti, which was becoming cosier in her warming, friendlier reality.
Her gaze fell on the happily acquired box of paints.
It lent the still somewhat neglected space a busy cosiness and a special meaning to her life. Some malfunctioning parts of her reality had been fixed this light.
More of them were in line. But it was fine. She'd start colouring this reality to her taste and according to her plan. Soon.
Life was inevitably sorting itself out again.
If it weren't so, everything would first be only bad, and then everyone would snuff it very quickly. But in nature, lopsided things didn't exist.
One last heave… to move the pile of underlays and rags from the floor to the bedstead. Better conditions for a pleasant rest.
…So much valour in one light for one homely templar.
Ami tossed the rags onto the bedstead and blissfully stretched out on it, covering herself with the still cool, slightly damp blanket, feeling it begin to warm and cosset her.
Definitely, this light, she was the heroine of epic tales, having conquered the monsters of discomfort, despondency, and chaos.
The one whose body still ached from weariness, but so many important things had been done this light! It instilled confidence in tomorrow's light and compensated for all the inconveniences endured.
…She was so bog-weary she was almost dead. But it was all… neat and lovely…