There was a small cottage in need of repair that he had put a down payment on, not too far from the marketplace. It was his preference to walk as many places as he possibly could. In some way, it was strange to be back in town and he wished, distantly, that he could have moved back into that abandoned bar, Ollie's.

Sometimes he wasn't sure what to make of things. That is, that so much time had passed, so many things had occurred, and yet he found himself alone in an empty house. It wasn't how he thought it would be. By now he thought he would at least maintain some of the old relationships he had had. With Claudie, Kat, a dozen other clients and even... even Rona, despite how it ended between them.

He took a broom to brush off the walls of his home, catching cobwebs and kicking out the dust. How many times had he done that? Relocated and recreated a home out of the small things he owned? When the walls were clean and dust still in the air, he took off his jacket and opened up the windows. The broom scrapping along the floor. The dirt, the leaves, the dust and grim from those who had lived there before him but did not care as much going out the door.

Hot water and suds, scrubbing the floor. The veins in his arms rising over the muscle from his continued hands-and-knees scrubbing. When it was done, finally done, he leaned back against the wall, rubbing his wrist on his forehead and feeling a cord swipe his forehead. He looked down. Ah, the ribbon bracelet.

Once there had been Rona, this... beautiful, distraught gypsy he'd looked after. When did it go from that to the other? He could remember horses and snow and following red ribbons for so many years. Work and toil, admiring her, loving her and saying and doing nothing about it. It was amazing that she ever knew at all, really. Finally he took the risk and kissed her, the way he had meant to for so long. He remembered being afraid that his uncharacteristic affection would get him slapped, that she would ask him just who he thought he was to behave that way. It'd been a beautiful moment though. But that's all they'd had, a moment.

He burnt incense to put fresh smells into the cottage. He scrubbed at the mold on the rocks and grout. He trimmed unruly shrubbery and began gathering rocks which he used to outline the garden beds circling the home and stretching out in the backyard. He washed his hands and arms off outside in a bucket of water, taking off his shoes and dusting off his pants before going inside. There, he unpacked his backpack. No furniture, some fruit in the kitchen. It was just a beginning for him.

Already he'd gotten a job. He helped Dr. Figmund Sroid with his mental patients. Seventy gold a week the man said. With that he could get some nice, clean cut furniture and maybe a picture to hang on the wall. He owed Mindy some gratitude for helping him find the job.

He fell asleep on the floor with his book bag as a pillow, staring at the red ribbon bracelet, wondering if Rona had ever survived. Wondering what became of all the many things which postponed, eh, canceled the wedding. She was probably married-- married to someone bolder, chattier and less quiet and calm than he. He'd changed so much from the first year he came to this country and when he went to bed, he slept with the feeling that it hadn't been enough.

When he woke up in the morning, it was his second day off in a row that the doctor has given him. That was kinda the schedule. Work two days, off two days. It was unusual, and left him with time which he wasn't sure what to do with. He went to the marketplace and bought some paint, and while he rounded the corner of a pet shop he saw a large, dark rabbit chewing away in its cage.

The rabbit was big. Real big. He didn't seem to be worried at all how close he was to the cage, either. In fact, he seemed completely involved with chewing away at the greens in his cage. The shop keep owner noticed him.

"He's beautiful. Good as a pet or for stew, you know, whichever you want."

He smiled slightly at the voice, nodding and poking a finger through the cage that the vibrating bunny nose sniffed at. Even took a testing tiny nibble.

"You know, pets are good company."

When he thought about going home to the empty cottage, the idea of the bunny was a much better one. Eyebrows arched up. Did he look lonesome? Anyway, he gave her money for the rabbit, its cage and a bag of feed. His arms were quite full. It took him a while to get back home.

Once he got there, he set the cage down on the floor and opened the door. The rabbit was uninterested in coming out for a long time. He opened the windows and began repainting the living room. He got so engrossed in what he was doing that he forgot about the rabbit until he felt a soft fur brush the back of his cafe. It scampered on, looking back over its shoulder at him.

"Hi."

And then he put up the paintbrush and grabbed some rabbit food, holding it out to the rabbit. That's what won the rabbit over. Munchies. It didn't whine or bark or do much of anything but munch munch munch. He felt a tug on his wrist where the rabbit chewed on the bracelet. Ah! he jerked his hand away and the rabbit froze, looking at him expectingly.

"I'm going to call you Chewy."

The rabbit wasn't much affected by the revelation of his name. He stroked Chewy a couple times before the rabbit walk-hopped around the room, into other rooms and sniffing around. It was nice to hear something else breathing there, moving around. There wasn't much for the bunny to disturb, and it seemed to only make its messes in the cage. When he asked the woman at the shop about that she said that, well, the first place a rabbit goes is normally where it kept going. She laughed and told him he was lucky it wasn't his closet or in the corner.

Chewy was the company he needed, but it wasn't fulfilling.He told himself that the house would feel less empty once he bought stuff for it, once Spring came around in full swing and there were more birds and bugs and everything to occupy the sounds of the world.


Or maybe animals just weren't satisfactory substitutes.

In the night he sat on the grass, a long rope going from his hand down a ways, into a clump of grass with long rabbit ears. Mindy sat off to the side.

"Tag, can I ask you a personal question?"

He was looking off to where Mr. Chewy was, like he were trying to look through the grass to make sure the rabbit wasn't gnawing at the rope to his harness, "Of course."

"When you were getting interviewed, you mentioned not having kids of your own so you ran that orphanage. How come you never married?"

Mindy wasn't a little girl. She was twenty-five, but he felt in many ways like her older brother. He felt like his response was a sort of role model guideline. He sucked in a breath and considered it carefully.

"Eh, I tried... you know, almost got married twice. I'm not angry about it, it just never seemed to happen. Women like men who are more flirty. I suppose it wasn't meant for me. So, am bodyguard again."

She chuckled, "I can't imagine that you're not married already. You have to watch out for the women in town, though, some of them are men collectors."

"You collect?"

"No, I'm not one of those."

He nodded a little and then looked back at the moon. He rose to his feet, dusting off his backside, giving Chewy a little tug to encourage him over before he stooped down to life the rabbit up.

"It's getting late. Do you want me to walk you home?"

"Yea, I'm still trying to figure out the way back." She put her hand in the crook of his arm.

After he saw Mindy got home safe, he returned home where Mr. Chewy roamed freely from room to room. Tomorrow he had to work. When he laid down he thought about what Mindy said. How come he never got married? It was one thing that made him... angry sometimes. It wasn't that he blamed anyone for what had happened, but that it seemed such a great injustice that those with weaker fidelity, if any at all, married and had children as though it were nothing. Granted, they divorced just as easily, he just... how was it he was always looked over?

Why had he proposed to Claudie? Did he not want to die alone? Was he getting older and worried that if he didn't, he never would? Or was it that he misunderstood the chemistry they had to be something greater? Whenever he thought of a marriage not happening, he never thought of her. It didn't feel like he lost a wife when he thought about it. It only felt like that when he thought about losing Rona.

He needed to keep himself busy. Suddenly he felt that the pondering of this, the struggle to make sense of a mystery without any new clues was maddening. It felt torturous. Was he punishing himself for something? Had thoughts of her returned because he should have done something? Should have spoken up more loudly, pulled her in more closer and kissed her, passionately, much sooner than he had?

When he slept he dreamed that there had been a flood, where the water was three feet up and debris floated everywhere and you had to wade difficultly through the water to get anywhere.

There had been heart shaped items everywhere he went.

When he was at the marketplace the women pleaded for him to buy sweets, buy cards, buy gifts for his sweetheart. To which he only answered them with a very distant smile and continued on his way, carrying groceries home. It was time he had more there to eat, time his home looked more like a place he lived.

He'd repainted all the walls by now, the smell of it almost gone. He tried to keep all the windows open when he was home to air it out better. He unloaded the groceries, putting a carrot on the ground for Mr. Chewy before he put everything else up. Switching his shirt out with a sleeveless one, he rooted around outside, picking up fallen branches and the like, stacking them in a woodpile by the house. If he couldn't break them over his knee they went in a pile for him to chop up later. It was getting warmer, the wood wasn't a necessity, but it gave him something to do.

Work at the hospital proved to be something he had a good handle of. The orphanage had prepared him for the hurt, the emotional. Some of those kids saw their parents die. Some had seen one parent murder another. Others were hurt to find that they were abandoned, but not the siblings their parents had later on. There were a lot fo questions kids in an orphanage had to figure out-- they lashed out, they were rebellious and downright spiteful at times. But, in the end, they just wanted some respect, some kinda love. Mental patients were almost like that. The calmer he was, the more quiet and respectful, the better they responded to him. So far, no one was acting out of line-- they hadn't gotten that comfortable with him yet.

When he got home at night he opened a bottle of whiskey sat out on his front porch looking down over the empty driveway. He took a swallow of his drink, listening to the bugs and twigs crackle off a ways from him.

"Happy Valentine's day."

The axe came down on the wood. Clip. Thunk. Again. The solid sound of wood getting cleaved into halves as he worked the axe against it. Sweat started coming. It was early-- the sun hadn't rose just yet. He leaned the axe against the house, stacked the wood, then pulled on his jacket before he started his walk.

So far, he had been able to handle walking most places. He lived close to town, and it was near to most everything. This new place was not far off.

One job wasn't enough. He found on his days off from the Doctor that he was climbing the walls with something to do. Yesterday he had purchased bar stools for the kitchen so that the island served as a casual seating area. He was still sleeping on the floor. He'd been raised sleeping on the floor on his back, examining the ceiling until he slept. So he took the inn and hoped for the best.

What he got was work at a Ranch, the Dr. Maranya's ranch. She had six purebreed horses and another guy, Ian who helped out. Horses required so much work, it was almost mandatory to have help unless a horse was the job. Keeping the saddles cleaned and polished. Minding the shoes on the horse. Minding their teeth. Brushing their coat. Riding them attentively everyday. It was the sort of commitment that he embraced fearlessly.

When he showed up he took off his coat and cleaned out the stalls. He then started with one of the horses on the end while Ian checked the equipment and began cleaning it off. He climbed atop the horse. It was taller than he was use to. His hands circled the reins. Heels dug in to encourage the trot.

Working with horses absorbed a mind entirely. Every motion they did, the way the animal moved and interpreted your motions... it was consuming. It was a relief to be removed from the weight of memory and what he was sure was a self-punishing torture of recalling memories of the old and failed happenings.

He dismounted. The sun had risen and it already felt warmer. He ran a hand along the broad side of the pure breed's neck with the reassuring coo that she had done well. Why was it Rona reminded him about horses so much? Was it the traveling that had always seemed to be at the heels of what they were? It was... a good memory. It didn't haunt him with a festering weight but instead, inspired him to think of her fondly.

"I'm sure she's as wild and free as she always wanted to be," he stroked the horse again, leading her into the stall and shutting the door. He pulled off the harness and hung it up. Ian handed him a scoop of oats that he poured into the bucket. A stroke along the horse's neck once again.

"I'm sure she was happier... out there." Rona was the epitome of what he thought a woman could be if her father was the wind. Running and running, pouring like so many things. He always felt like the root of a tree. Well, of course she had gone. Only a wind could follow another.

"Tag!"

Ian snapped him to and he smiled briefly, in an apologetic sort of way before he stepped out of the stall and began all anew on the next horse. He did three, Ian did the other three. He'd better hurry if he was going to be punctual at the hospital after this.

He was climbing into the saddle, the second day working with Maranya's horses. Purebreds had a mean streak in them, but they had adjusted fine to Tag. There was a way about him that most animals took to. He wasn't nervous or neurotic, malicious or anxious. But quietly soothed, if not a bit somber. Perhaps it was the somber aspect which gave the horses the inclination to listen to him.

Mostly, he tried to keep the horses from getting bored with the same pattern everyday. Sometimes he would walk them into town so that they would stay use to people, mostly crowds of people. Early morning in the marketplace he walked beside the horse, hand at the mouth of the reins as he did so. When he passed a vendor they were chatting about hearing a lovely violin player in the market the other night. He glanced towards them but kept moving.

Just as he passed by another street vendor, this one selling flowers and ribbons, her hand knocked against his. He felt a cold metal clasp and a grinding feeling. He stopped and looked at her, surprised.

"Oh, so sorry!" she said, giggling and pulling back her hand, which carried heavy metal scissors. He looked down at his sleeve, she had just caught the end of it. She saw his look and offered, "You can have a boutique for free?"

He just smiled, the small, slight expression that told her he wasn't concerned. He kept walking, circling back to take the horse to the stables and begin working on the third for the day.

Behind, on the ground, unnoticed by Kusinage and flower girl, was the old red ribbon bracelet. It was severed, half curled on the ground between two walking stones.

The day was over. After working so much at the end of the day he expected a greater sense of fulfillment. That he should be entirely exhausted and content. Instead, as he washed his hands and face over the sink before bed, he felt a phantom sensation. The ghost of something against his skin that he felt but wasn't there.

Wasn't there...

He looked down at his wrist and noticed with shock that his wrist was naked. How many years had he worn that bracelet? When was it lost? How did he lose it? Suddenly he scrambled to find it, all lights on and his feet brushing over the floorboards over and over as he paced the rooms. Without a shirt on he pulled on his shoes, didn't lace them, and tracked back and forth in his yard.

It was gone.

Hands on his hips, he stared down in the yard. Somehow he'd lost it, the last little thing that was a reminder of all he'd been through and the people he'd known. The bookmark was gone now. With his eyes fixed on the ground he told himself that maybe, maybe it had to happen. Maybe it was a sign. Perhaps some force of the world was telling him it was best he consider all those previous years gone and that he, he had a chance to be anyone now. He could call himself Mark and run a bookstore. He could adopt an arrogant swagger and date the sociable girls of town. The more the idea tried to persuade him that it was right, the more resistant he felt. Long exhale.

Perhaps, though, it was time to quit torturing himself with it. Rona, after all, was long gone to whatever wind had taken her. Slowly he walked back inside, each light put out one by one until his home was dark and quiet. He laid on his back on the floor, hands folded behind his head.

He didn't take a horse to the market the following day, but the next he went again. He knew that though he had reconciled some invisible meaning to the loss of the bracelet, there was still a small part of him that looked for it, to figure out where it had been lost.

As he came upon the marketplace he dismounted, taking Maranya's pure breed by the reins and calmly walking into town. The sun was beginning to heat things up. Already he was wondering how many days were left that he would even wear a jacket.

The flower girl stopped him as he passed.

"You know, Sir, I think a woman in town here knows you."

He blinked, unsure how much he wanted to engage with the stranger. So he nodded a little to what she said and spoke quietly, "Well, I have met a few. My employer," her nodded towards the horse, "for example."

"Maybe it was just a coincidence but I could swear that when I told her about you there was recognition? She fainted."

Tag smiled small, slight and began walking, "I'm new in town..." he shrugged, now looking at her over his shoulder, "Sorry. I hope she's well."

Another woman came up to the florist, chatting about the violinist that fainted the other day and how the town had gotten use to her playing. That she'd become a general concern. He kept walking because he knew how he was. If he stayed before long he'd be offering his services to help and then... another situation that was much too familiar.

He stroked the side of the horse's neck, climbed back up in the saddle and dug his heels in to get the horse trotting. He looked up at the sky and sighed. He thought he should have felt more empty or abandoned, but there was a strange feeling, like he had company, when he rode. He stopped the horse, looking around the woods. No one. He clicked his tongue to urge the horse onward.

(Since this was all about them reuniting, I thought it would be a shame not to include the reunion!! I did clean up the log cause it was in the crowded Inn to where it's just Tag and Rona so that this post contains the heart of their reunion and reacquainting themselves with each other.)

RDI (2-20-09 and 2-21-09)

Tag Sentry: There was so much noise in the room. Noise built upon itself, like a tangle. A violin tearing through conversations. After several strides in he pulled back at the hood of his jacket and tried to pick way around to the bar. However, to avoid a group he found his path zigzaging by the hearth. The way there was the same as the violinist. At first, he'd thought it was just a side thought until he realized everyone else saw her. Everyone else was responding to her music. Because Rona really was there.

Rona Deykar: The torture of that spirit was fed into the melody, pouring through fingers and into strings and song. She had to get it out of her before it broke her spirit and she could not be reclaimed by it. Eyes closed, shut as the music claimed her by its beck and call but also for the struggle to restrain tears. She took heed to Darkmere's words...and played, not carrying what the others thought of it.

Tag Sentry: And just then a hand barely brushed her just by the elbow and a very familiar voice spoke up with quiet clarity. Somehow, without standing by her ear, he could sound as though he were right upon it, "Rona."

Rona Deykar: Anger. Anguish. Hurt. Pain. Sorrow. Envy. Longing. Poured into the notes, a silent shuddering gasp as the notes ended in a sudden violent torrent, a solo note somber and lingering.. A flinch of contact upon flesh and she turned to warn the man of the influence of touch upon an Empath... but the flooding of emotion was there. Real and known. Breathless, heaving chest as night emeralds went wide eyed. "Kusinage." A whisper. Disbelieving. If the music was a butterfly it had torn wings. A tremble of frame, shivering as the fiddle and bow was settled to the side of the chair she was curled into. Her eyes had not left Tag.

Tag Sentry: "Yes." So the two of them stood there, dumbfounded in each other's presense like they had never seen anything so amazing. It *was* amazing. It was... the chances of them finding each other again were ever so remote. With just how enormous the world was, and with just so many years that had passed, it had become so terribly unlikely. Now there were not other possiblities. He'd thought a hundred times what he would say to her but nothing was coming out.

Rona Deykar: She uncurled from her placement in the hearth chair. Fingers lifted to touch upon his face. He was real. Those tears spilled then down her cheeks. Relief.

Tag Sentry: "I didn't think it was you." He looked at the toe of his shoe when she touched his face. Eyes slowly rose back to her's and he reached out, twirled one of her red ribbons gently then pulled his hand away.

Rona Deykar: "I thought...something had happened. When I found the ribbon... I thought I had lost you."

Tag Sentry: "I lost it? You have it?" he blinked at that, drawing his hands down into the front pockets of his pants, "What are you doing here?"

Tag Sentry: "Yea," he nodded towards the woman behind the bar, Maranya, then looked back towards her, "I take care of her horses." Then he moved to sit down at the couch by the hearth. Dark eyes up at her. There wasn't too much different about him, not from when she saw him last. Maybe a few more scars. Maybe lines matured on his face. Somehow, in his youth, there was a meeker demeanor. Now? The atmosphere of a more confident patience.

Rona Deykar: She moved to withdraw hands from his face, fingers searched for the pouch that was well hidden in the fold of skirt... sure enough there was the ribbon he had lost. Though cleaned and repaired. She held it out to him, held out by the hand with bandaged wrist, a bow of head...teeth nipped down on her lower lip as she smiled shyly at him. Tempted to hug him and kiss him and tell him everything of her heart...but shyness again claimed her.

Tag Sentry: That was how they always were. Two people, so reserved it took a tidal wave to cause their emotions to burst. She'd touched his face but he had been hesitant to be affectionate with her. When she had been someone he thought of, he recalled all the things he'd loved and missed. Now that she was here, he recalled a canceled marriage, and the rejection of it was brought up to this moment. Where he still felt that's where they were. When the ribbon was offered he took it from her with a smile. He didn't want her to see him put it on, not if, well, yea. Not of it was all a one-sided affection. He shoved the ribbon into a pocket and smiled with gentle gratitude. He'd had a phantom ribbon hanging around his wrist all week.

Rona Deykar: A huff of breath. A tearing at heart and spirit again as it was shoved into pocket. A shake of head. She ignored the crowd. Fingers brushed the sides of his face, curled there at his neck as she bent down for lips to touch his softly. Still there was warmth there and love. A heart that always had been his was lingering in that soft kiss.

Tag Sentry: It was rather unexpected. He was so use to them staying in their respected corners that when the rules changed-- well, there was no backup reaction ready. A still shock. Eh, should he do this? Hadn't he been down this road before? Wasn't he, in the end, left older and even more removed from what he ultimately desired? The loyal dog in him did kiss her back, but even in the gesture there was something removed. It didn't have the unbridled passion of the past but a guarded interest.

Rona Deykar: Breaking of the kiss she looked to him. The rules had changed of course she had when she realized how many times she had near lost him. A easing down to settle across from him on the couch, hugging her knees. "I never have forgot you, never let another into my heart, I never stopped loving you. I left...because I couldn't bear to watch you marry someone that was not me." A murmur as cheek pressed to her skirt to shield the tear that fell down her cheek.

Tag Sentry: "But then I proposed to you, and still," he didn't realize that actually talking about it would feel like this. It'd been so long since there had been anything that upset him. In a way, it embarrassed him. He turned so that he leaned his back into the couch's armrest, shoulders squared off to her. He was being hard on her, did she deserve it? He'd never given her a strict word before. Perhaps to compensate, he admitted, "You've been in my thoughts, too."

Rona Deykar: "Proposed to me aye, and I said yes... till I knew of other women that were in your life. I saw her kiss you. I could not bear it."

Tag Sentry: When you fantasize about meeting someone, the confessions and connection is immediately. All of the correct apologies happen at the same time and everything that was wrong gets put down. Reality was, however, dealing with the tangles which were real. He scratched the back of his neck, "And now?"

Rona Deykar: A drop of shoulders down, gaze somber. To find him again only to seem to lose him once more, Head was buried into the claim of skirts, shoulders shaking with those quiet, hidden tears. She had hurt him so deeply in ways she had never meant, so beyond that desire. She wished only to love. A muffled murmur in skirts. "I love you still... " Hands rubbed at eyes as she lifted her head to answer the question. Defeated and exhausted with the gentle reprimand. "There is no one but you for my heart..."

Tag Sentry: Her tears were inadvertently manipulative. The nurturing side of him which was so dominant a part of his personality instantly wanted to console her. To give her the words which would sooth the situation. He pressed his lips together and then, in a tone spoken low and heavy, like it hurt but was a relief to say, "I love you, too."

Rona Deykar: A soft sigh of relief at that. She moved tentatively to settle beside him, A tentative smile though the look in her eyes spoke volumes of what those words meant to her. "I am sorry for running away... I thought... the other was your heart sworn. I was foolish." A whisper. Fingers moved, a childish nature of fingers to weave through his own. "I had said yes before... I stay with my words. Yours, as wife still...if you would have me." Soft murmur of words to him. Too old now to go rushing off when someone stepped in the way of her own desires.

Tag Sentry: Perhaps it was her past with him that had him hesitating. Could he handle another almost-marriage with grace? Would it take just that one more failure to make him the bitter-singing drunk at night talking about the devilish provocative ways of women? Definitely there was a discomfort to jumping up ahead with an answer, "For now, let's just agree on hello." His hand holding her's closed fingers around it and he smiled, weakly.

Rona Deykar: "Very well." A soft murmur as fingers not claimed in his own would touch to his jaw lightly, those eyes lingering on his. "I am so sorry I hurt you so deeply." Frowning as fingers curled through his own, unwilling to release. It was so much more that had caused her to run away after seeing the other woman and her nature around him, claiming to be his fianc?e once he had proposed to her... it had been that night that she had been claimed by a darker touch, she did not know if he could love her after such darkness had been poured into her spirit.

Tag Sentry: Did engagement even feel real to him? Or was it like... going through a phase? Oh, engagement here... there, but always a bluff. He hadn't been some playboy that roamed the female circuit. In fact, he was the worst Don Juan that had ever been. Women practically had to explain to him that they were interested for it to register. Even then sometimes it just didn't sink in. When she touched his jaw he sighed softly. It *had* been a while. A couple years that he had dated, er, well, anyone? He leaned down to kiss her, but he kept it brief. "No matter what, I'm glad to see you again."

Rona Deykar: "I am glad to see you as well. You have never left my thoughts." Lips touched his own briefly. A look to him as shoulders rolled back to ease tension. He knew easily how she was in crowds and four walls. "Will you walk me home?"

Tag Sentry: "Of course." he would have walked someone who punched him in the eye home. Tag had a high opinion about people being safely escorted and careful. He rose from the couch, using the connection of their hands to lead her along with him, "Where is your home?"

Rona Deykar: "At the docks...in the inn there...at the end." A quiet murmur as she leaned over to claim fiddle and bow.

Tag Sentry: His hold on her hand loosened so that she could use both to carry them. He gestured to her that he would take some of the items for her, if she wished.

Rona Deykar: A shake of head as she smiled to him, she could handle it. Tension licked shoulders as she eyed the crowd. A pacing stamp of foot like a restless mare in the stable. Wild eyed. She hated crowds.

Tag Sentry: That was the best way they spoke-- through body language. He took the step ahead so that people parted or noted their passing before she encountered them. That way her contact was minimal. When he reached the door he held it wide open for her. Coming and going out of a busy place was hazardous all on its own.

Rona Deykar: Especially for an Empath that was severely claustrophobic. A sigh of relief as she stepped out into the night with him. A turn of tide, she didn't know where the tide would take them...but it mattered not when she was in the presence of him again. Her confidant. Her salvation. Best friend and love. Her protector and her heart sworn.

Tag Sentry: There was a relief in seeing someone who knew him, really knew him. He didn't get gabby or too forward-- it took him so long to have a relationship like this with anyone. With her ghost of her haunting him for so long, it was nice to see it wasn't just another daydream entertaining 'what if.' He smiled, warmly, and let her take lead toward her home.

Rona Deykar: And that's what she did, led the way with fingers intertwined through his...she was humming again...the softest melody to caress and tease the senses.


(... and afterward he went back!)

Tag Sentry: He'd just seen Rona home. He was chewing on his lower lip in thought, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket and the hood pulled back over the top of his head. It wasn't raining, but he liked feeling more insulated like that tonight.