oom
Wednesday evening had been interesting, to say the least. The wrapped parcel was placed on his desk - he read the note, but didn't open it.
Thursday - all of it- and Friday - up until the afternoon - had passed without incident.
(And without his presence in the bar, save for a few quick meals.)
Friday night, he'd opened the parcel, neatly folding up the brown paper and setting it aside. The pen and inkwell were given a special place on his desk, and the case for his reading glasses was used immediately, since he hadn't actually had a case for traveling with.
(The chalk was placed on the desk, but unopened.)
Saturday morning, he'd spent out in the stables.
Saturday afternoon, he'd spent walking around the lake, hands tucked into his pockets, staring up at the sky that threatened to spit snow at him the entire time.
Saturday evening, he'd walked out to the beach, with a heavy heart - she still wasn't back.
She ever gonna come back, or are you gonna have to go out and find her?
In his pocket, there was a tiny paper crane. Pink. It had been sitting on his dresser for over a year now. There were two still sitting there - the brown one, and a newer one, a faint shade of blue. But the pink one was tucked into his pocket.
When he made it to the sand, and the edge of the water, he'd pulled the crane out and studied it. Against the leather of his gloves, it looked even more delicate than it had before. His fingers were gently holding the tail in place, but eventually he let go.
The crane lingered in his palm for a moment, before the wind kicked up behind him and nearly bowled him over. The paper drifted, never hitting sand, and eventually landed in the water, before it disappeared.
Empty space in his chest, he wandered back inside, and back up into his room.
What now?
look for a path
Hot water from the bar was attained easy enough, and it wasn't like the tea was difficult to make. And after he'd gotten over feeling sick, he decided to head downstairs.
(He grabbed two sticks of chalk out of that box, on the way out.)