[Present]

When Adolpha awoke, the sun felt a little warmer. Already, the effects of a long summer ahead were beginning to take place, after nothing more than a few weeks of very lightly frosted nights and gentle powdery snow. The dry season was to come, which everyone in River's Bed dreaded. River's Bed had even less to worry about than many other villages, however, as they lived near a river, as did Jasper and even Virulent's Forest.

On this particular morning, her arm was bothering her quite more than normal. It ached, and she gently rubbed it, as if trying to soothe a crying child. That memory remained burned into her mind, and she couldn't get the thought of Yakob out of her head. It was almost as if she was back there again.

She shook it off, sitting on the couch, and missing Quince's warmth from the night before. She could only wonder why Quince had left in what seemed like a rush; had she said something to offend her?

Adolpha couldn't deny that her body had begun to react strangely to her dear friend. Even now, as the bright morning light glimmered into the large abode from the windows, just the mere thought of Quince's presence made Adolpha squirm a bit where she sat on the couch. She was very uncomfortable with the idea of Quince potentially being upset with her, or even angry at her for some reason that Adolpha couldn't place. Then again, she recalled that Quince didn't seem angry— just hurried. She likely had some other business to attend to, and business that did not involve Adolpha one bit. Still, Adolpha imagined briefly Quince's blue eyes and her sharply curled hair, her dark brown skin, and the gentle blemishes that lined it. Thinking of her friend always made the other memories— the bad memories— melt away, back into the goopy pile they sat at the back of her mind.

This morning, Adolpha was nearly relaxed, and for the first time in a very long time. She had no large plans for the day, and wasn't expecting anyone at all. But it wasn't long into the morning before there was a knock at her door. She lifted her head, snapping to reality in an instant, and immediately feeling goosebumps creep along her skin. Her immediate thought was, "Is it Yakob?" As if he wasn't long dead.

Still, Adolpha pulled herself to her feet, shaking away the dubious thoughts and instead considering making a cup of tea after telling the stranger to get off of her lawn. Instead of a stranger, however, upon creaking open the front door, Adolpha was met face-to-face with her pale but vibrant daughter.

"May?" She asked, surprised, her blue eyes widening a bit.

"Hey..." May's mouth was a bit agape, and the sentence hung off as if she'd had more to say. In reality, she hadn't yet decided whether or not she wanted to call Adolpha "Mother", or by her name. Adolpha caught this, but showed nothing. She was still surprised.

"What... are you doing here?" Adolpha finally said. The silence that had hung between them was unbearably awkward and tepid; Adolpha was eager to break that silence, even if it was with a question that she didn't particularly want to know the answer to.

May couldn't seem to look her mother in the eyes as she spoke, "Actually, I'm here to talk to you."

"Talk to me? Are you not busy... with school, or teaching?" Adolpha felt a bit of heat begin to swell in her throat, making speaking words difficult. She wanted nothing more than to break down and cry, to pull her precious daughter into her arms. But with an agonising stab to her heart, she realised that she couldn't do that anymore.

May shook her head, blonde strands of hair glowing gold from beneath the sun, and fidgeting noticeably with her hands, "Not at this very moment, Adolpha." Then, that decision was made. "I'll only need a moment, then." Without further words, May pushed herself in through the cottage door. She was never a pushy child, and so this surprised Adolpha, but at the same time, Adolpha was quite proud of her confidence. She would always be proud of May. She stepped aside, letting May choose wherever she wanted to go next as Adolpha shut the door behind her. The room was slowly beginning to glow from the sunlight through the steep windows, casting pale orange shapes onto the furniture, floor, and walls. The warmth of that morning was unmistakeable; after only a few weeks of gently cold drizzles, the unbearable heat of summer was once again upon them. It would stand by for a while longer, but the winter had surely been light so far, and would continue to be moving forward.

May scanned the glowing, morning living area carefully, ultimately deciding to wander to the kitchen, trailing her fingers along the familiar countertops. She'd grown up in this house, and it was all but uncanny to be back here again after such a long time. The house was so quiet and cold these days. Even now, in the bask of the morning light, it was sad and empty inside. She wondered, painstakingly, if that is how her mother now felt. The feeling of guilt crept upon her like a Lycanthrope's wolf in the grass, stalking its prey. Around her heart, the cold fingers grasped, and she finally began to understand her mother, standing awkwardly across the room from her. The glow of the morning light missed her mother's face, but it hit her orange curled hair with the glow of a thousand angels, and the rims of her eyes were ignited with sea blue. Strands from her hair spiralled every which way, white in the light.

"The truth is, Ma," May began, and Adolpha stiffened noticeably at her change of name; as if she was so terribly scared to mess up what sudden positive change had occurred. "I..." the words were harder for May to speak than she had expected. They stayed stuck in her throat like gobs of bile, gasping for her to keep them down. She dared not swallow them, and instead, begrudgingly spit them up, "I forgive you."

"What?" Adolpha was frozen to where she stood by the door, still several feet away from May, riddled with disbelief and shock. While Adolpha stared right at her with wide eyes, May could only look down at her fingers on the sleek marble counter top. It was cool to the touch, and a wonderful contrast to the fine dark oak from the rest of the kitchen. Hand-carved from marble transported there from Adam's Peak, the top was imperfect, just as were the people in the large, beautiful home.

May's lips were dry as she quietly spoke, "I forgive you, Ma." She hadn't intended her voice to crack as harshly as it did, and she even less had anticipated the tears which sprung to her glassy blue eyes. Her face was hot, pale cheeks suddenly flushed with bright pink, and small crinkled forming at the edges of her eyes and mouth in a simple frown. A full sob was only a moment away, and the terrible ache in her gut exploded within her. She kept her jaw clenched, unsure that she would be able to say what needed to be said then. Adolpha wasn't sure of what to make of May's words herself.

Adolpha responded then, hesitantly, and with her own bound of interesting emotions, "You forgive me?" She still dared not to move. Through blurry eyes then she saw her perfect daughter; every muscle within her was tight and sore. She almost trembled from the pressure. May swallowed the grief, and the intense absence of love, and instead hardened herself the way that she had done for the past several years. She wiped her eyes with a quick, relentless hand, and re-wetted her chapped lips, and then inhaled deeply.

"I can forgive you for what you've had to do," she said, the words coming out in a flow now, but still with great difficulty. "I know you did what you believed you had to do. And I know that my very life— the very lives of all in River's Bed— are owed mostly to you."

Adolpha opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off. She despised those words, and especially hearing them from her daughter's mouth. Adolpha did not consider the fact that they were true, and her daughter was entirely right; no, she hated the expectation of needing to live up to a hero's role. She was no role model, and she was not the confident, prideful young woman she once was. She was now a bitter and broken woman, and she hated that.

May continued against her mother's will, "But Adolpha, I will not forget that you left me. I was alone after your disappearance. I became none other than an orphan, and that has permanently altered my life. I will not ever forget that, and I will need more time to move past it." Adolpha's tension released itself within her, and visibly, her entire form sagged, her shoulders dropping, and her expression darkening.

Forcing the grief to stay within her throat, Adolpha's words became thick and unbearable, "I understand." She, like May, pushed her emotions down as far as she could. She kept them trapped, pitifully, within her, but she knew that they would make her sluggish in demeanour, rude in exterior, and dampen her appetite.

"Ma," May continued, sensing her mother's uneasiness, "I would like to mend this between us." Smiling reassuringly, the young girl took a few steps closer to Adolpha, now daring to look at her face completely. Adolpha stared past her.

"Alright."

"I'm hopeful," May pressed, "That we will be mother and daughter again."

Adolpha was struck as if by a blade. The consideration that May was no longer her daughter had not even begun to cross her mind, and the realisation of how terrible her daughter had truly felt ripped an open wound within her. The pain was thick and heavy, like stones piling inside of her, holding down her heart and face. Her skin felt hot suddenly, as if she were embarrassed for not having realised such a thing sooner. Adolpha felt entirely foolish, and then, she wanted nothing more than to be alone. So, she spoke stiffly, "I suppose it is best if you be on your way, then. I am sure you have some busy tidings to get to, May?" Her words sounded harsher than she had intended, and again, her mind called her out for it, reminding her that she was a terrible mother. She tried to save herself by reiterating, "Well, if you are busy. You are more than welcome to stay if you'd like..."

But May had already taken a hint, sensing that she had struck a nerve of some sort, "Oh, no. I have other things I best be doing. But I will see you soon, Ma?"

"Yes, very soon."

"Good."

May turned to leave, and Adolpha gave one last voice, "May?"

She turned to face her mother one last time, opening the door, "Yes?" The light from the day glowed behind her, and her expression was soft and kind. There was an urgency about all of this, as if the two did not have all of the time left in the world to repair any damage that had been done.

"Thank you... for stopping by to tell me this."

"Of course." With that, May did not linger, and walked from the door, shutting it behind her and making the room darker than before in more ways than one. Adolpha struggled to stay upright from the moment that she became alone again. She wondered, with an aching concern, if getting a career would be good for her just as Quince had once suggested. Adolpha scoffed at the idea again; she was in no position to get a career, and undoubtedly, she would be no use to anyone, anyways. And what would she even do? Before she had left, she spent a lot of her time gardening, growing fresh crops for the local farmer's market or producing flowers to offer to Ware's neighbours. She would help around the village, doing what anyone asked her to do, offering favours for those in need, and working often alongside Mayor Kelo during basic town duties. But now, all of that sounded mundane, and Adolpha's garden had long since overgrown. It did not interest her any longer, and she wanted nothing else but to curl up in bed. Adolpha had truly spent the majority of her time being a mother to May, but that clearly was not an option anymore. Once again, Adolpha's arm ached, just as it did whenever she was unwinding within herself like this. She gripped it tight, possibly too tight, and it began to sting where her nails imprinted on her skin.

She needed to take her mind away from all of this, desperately. Not thinking of much else, she sluggishly made her way to the kitchen, opening a cupboard for a glass and then fetching a bottle of wine from a rack beneath the wash tub; she uncorked it with a gentle pop. This pop was so familiar to her, but she was used to hearing it on special occasions, holidays, or during social outings. Hearing that cork pop while she was home, all alone, in the shadows of her house was quite sad, and she sank into the darkness even more, tears threatening to unhurt themselves from her eyes.

She blinked them away rapidly, and instead, focused on the way the dark wine looked as it poured delicately into her tall glass. It was red like blood, and had tender spots of white about it, a nice gleam in the light on the round stream of liquid. She didn't find it appealing, though. It looked and behaved too similarly to blood, and she had certainly seen enough bloodshed for a lifetime by then.

Despite her lack of appetite, she forced herself to drink the glass, and she did so in one quick fell swoop. It tasted bitter yet sweet, a wonderfully, rich fruity flavour lingering in her mouth. But she did not want to drink up all of her wine, which really should have been saved for celebratory purposes; and the wine, besides, was not exactly what she was looking for, although it was very pleasant to drink. Instead, Adolpha begrudgingly made the choice to leave her comfortable, dark home and venture outside.

She tucked the wine bottle onto the back edge of the kitchen's clean marbled countertop, and then she gently placed her empty glass in the washtub, saving it to be cleaned later. A few other dishes still sat in the bronze tub, a bit of grime upon them that had settled. She had not had any energy to heat the needed water for washing them, and so, in the counter's tub they had stayed.

Then, she went to her bedroom and got ready to leave the house. This was a strange feeling, and purely for appearances; she could truly care less about the way that she looked, or about wearing proper clothes. But she flushed, considering how May had seen her in her disheveled nightgown, still stained with tears. She didn't want anyone to see her as far gone as that. And then Adolpha thought again... she wasn't really that 'far gone', was she? She was okay, wasn't she?

She shook the thoughts away, the curls atop of her head bouncing fruitfully as she did so. The Lycanthrope woman began to dig through her closet, pulling aside outfits on hangars that she thought she might wear. She eventually settled on a red cloak— one that was very familiar to her— a sage green tank, and a pair of loose working pants. It wasn't the finest outfit, but it was clean and very comfortable. She would look like a traveller, as Adolpha now imagined herself as one. These days, her mind never stopped wandering, after all.

Then, once she'd stripped out of her night clothes and into the fresh linens from her closet, she felt a small amount of refreshment. Although, that may have just been the wine making her cheeks a little red. Her dark freckles popped against the colour in a youthful way, but the creases around her mouth and eyes gave away how much she had aged in such a short time during their travels. Even now, her clothes still fit a bit loosely on her body, which was once very plump and rounded in shape. It still was rounded— just less full, after she had lost quite a bit of weight during travelling. Adolpha didn't think of her weight one way or another, and in fact, she always thought that Quince should eat more, with as thin as she was; but the truth was that Quince ate plenty for her size. She was a bit shorter than Adolpha, and a bit smoother throughout her shape. But most of all, she was lean and muscular. The two were both very fit and healthy; but still looked apparently different in overall shape. It was entirely genetics. Adolpha's father, Gabriel, had been a strong, heavy set man, meanwhile Quince's mother was very lean. In her older age, she was even almost frail. But nothing could break the spirit nor the strength of that kind woman, and for that reason, Adolpha admired her.

But none of these thoughts removed from Adolpha's intense sadness after she and her daughter's heart to heart. She felt... abandoned, and with a sense of strong, weighing guilt and pity, she wondered if this is what May herself had felt whenever Adolpha had left. Adolpha thought back to that day, that day that started it all. She hadn't even woken May up, had she? She'd left her in her very own bed, not to be woken up. And surely May had awoken that morning, not knowing where her mother had gone. And at the time, Yakob was still around. Back then, Adolpha knew he was dangerous, but never really... knew it. Now, looking back, the now wise woman understood just what a threat he could have posed to her only daughter, and she trembled at the thought of what could have gone wrong. If Yakob had decided not to pursue Adolpha, but rather had pursued his daughter...

She shuddered. It was very possible that she had very well put her own daughter's life at risk. And by leaving, Ware had followed after her, as well, desperate for her son, and had died in the process. Yakob's gruesome death was well overdue, but Ware's? There, standing alone in that prime new outfit in her bedroom, Adolpha choked out a sob. Ware was like a mother to her, and it pained her deeply, like an obsidian blade within her ribcage, to know that Adolpha had been at fault for her death.

She had tried to reason with herself that it was Yakob's fault. If Yakob had stayed in River's Bed, had Yakob not pursued her, then Ware would very likely still be alive. But so would Yakob, and even worse was the possibility that May would not be. That thought alone caused Adolpha's weakened knees to tremble, and with a sniffle and a wipe of her nose, she pushed all of those terrible, swirling thoughts and emotions down, down within herself, putting on a pretty face. She needed a quick fix, a way to keep her mind from spinning.

Adolpha wasn't one to drink much, but tonight, she decided that's exactly what it is that she needed. With her red cloak fluttering behind her at her calves, she swept herself out of that dark bedroom and through the cold, empty house, still ablaze with the morning's sun as the day very slowly shifted into afternoon.

She was glad— no, relieved— to finally close that round door behind her with that familiar creak and then click. Surely the inside of her house would now be plunged into darkness; but now, Adolpha was outside in the fresh, warm air of an early summer, fluffy white clouds floating on overhead. It would have been a perfect day for a trot on a mule, or for adventuring as a wolf, or for gardening in the backyard. But Adolpha avoided all of those internal suggestions, and instead, she made her way with haste down the pretty terraces of her house. Usually, there was wavering tall grass in the yard, but due to the freeze, the grass had faded to yellow and brown and now laid flat on the dirt beneath it. She'd had no time to tidy up her yard; well, that is what she told herself. It would be overgrown again soon, and not as pretty as before, now that May was no longer caring for it all for Adolpha, just as her overgrown garden was now beginning to wilt.

Adolpha walked quickly down the pretty steps of her large, cottage property. Although she enjoyed the fresh air and gentle breeze and the early light, she still felt terrible and wilted herself. Her mind still raced, her heart still pounded nearly out of her chest. She was certain that everyone she would pass on the street would be able to hear her panicked heartbeat. She kept her head down, and remained walking fast through town, not daring to stop or chitchat with anyone. A large part of her hoped that nobody would recognise her, but she wore that outfit that only she would wear.

Maybe it was then, as she hurried through town in clear distress, that Quince noticed her and followed her, abandoning her mid-morning chores on the farm.

Adolpha finally found a place that wasn't all that familiar to her: a local pub. With a quick glance across the busy, dusty street in both directions, she walked across it and up the stone steps to the large double door entrance. The building was simple, but large, with tall walls and a pointed roof and magnificent wooden doors, fine metal stretching across the tops of them, nails hammered into the darkly stained boards. Inside, one could hear the jostle of typical bar music and people fluttering about. It wasn't busy, as it was early morning, but there were a few people sitting at different tables across the room. Adolpha walked in slowly, taking in the low-lit and noisy scene. A band played simple music on a small stage at the back wall, one folk strumming a wooden guitar while another sang across the small crowd loudly, yet softly. They seemed to be having a good time.

Adolpha found it all too... jolly, but she went on ahead anyways, taking a quiet seat at the bar. There was only one other person at the bar table, and unfortunately, Adolpha immediately recognised him. He had deep, tanned skin lined with the blemishes of a hard working man; he had ripe muscles and a tall, wide stature, but a kind face that seemed uncanny with the rest of him. Even more interesting, he had orange-toned brown hair, short on the top of his head and viciously curly. He reminded Adolpha greatly of Kelo. It was Chase, a friend she had not seen since she was a child. Well, she had seen him; occasionally, she would catch his eye across the street, or like now, across the table of a restaurant or butcher's shop. But by far, this was the closest in proximity they had been in years; he sat only a few barstools down from her.

He glanced in her direction with a dark, glimmering eye, and then allowed a smile to creep to his familiar face.

"Adolpha," he greeted her warmly. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Likewise, Chase," Adolpha nodded, forcing a small, reassuring smile. She looked him over a second time, this time acknowledging his presence, and noting the wheelchair which sat beside his barstool. She knew that the muscles lining his shoulders were no easy feat for him, but she also knew that they were what had allowed him to climb from his chair to the barstool, even with his missing leg. She wondered what occupation he held, considering both his strong appearance and his disability. He was possibly an iron worker, or perhaps a leather worker of sorts. Farming was really the only job she couldn't imagine him capable of doing.

He pointed his nose in her direction then, still smiling shyly, "What are you doing here?"

Adolpha wasn't entirely sure how to answer, as she wasn't certain herself, "Oh, simply taking a moment."

"I understand that," he said slowly, over the racket of the bar, "Ever since the war, life has been hard. Less farmers are bringing in produce, less cattle being slaughtered while we conserve all that we can."

She turned his words over in her head, "I've heard about this."

"I think some people will go hungry this summer, Adolpha. And it's an early summer at that."

"I wish it will be plentiful," she said, but Adolpha hoped that he would stop talking to her. She had no interest in talking about this now, about the mess she had made. She was no hero; she was hardly even a person.

"But it rarely is," Chase continued, his voice smooth. He still kept a childish ring to his tone, and Adolpha knew he'd remained young like a child at heart, even now as a young adult himself. "I think the Mayor is worried about it, too. I've heard he's sending an expedition up to Adam's Peak to offer support, in the hopes that they will help support us this summer. It's cooler where they are; they may be able to harvest crops this summer that we cannot." After what seemed like ages, a fancy-appearing bartender appeared behind the counter. He was wearing a bow tie and simple but elegant, dark clothing, which fitted his wide body perfectly. He remained entirely professional, asking Adolpha only what her drink of choice was, and with a second thought, how her day was going. Adolpha ignored Chase's expectant stare; she had no wish to reconnect with him this day. Although she had secretly hoped the two would get in touch with one another again— she had not expected nor wanted it to be today.

Adolpha responded to the kind bartender, "It's alright. I would like a glass of strong proof mead." The tender did not ask questions, nodding thoughtfully and then working at the wooden shelves behind the counter, clinking a large bottle of mead to another, preparing a glass strong in alcohol content, just as Adolpha had lazily requested. She rested her elbows on the counter, exhausted already; and the day had hardly even begun.  The bartender offered a bit of honey drizzle to go with the sweet but bitter coax of the mead; and then he handed her a large glass of it. The glass had surely been blown by an artistic glassmaker in town, finely created and round and gleaming at the edges. She wondered then if Chase was possibly a glass worker of sorts. Just as she took her first sip of the warm liquid, she turned and glanced at Chase, who still held her in his gaze, sipping on a copper pint of frothy beer. His pint, rather than carefully melted by a glass worker, had surely been forged by an armoury with metals mined in or around Adam's Peak. As was the way of River's Bed and their plentiful people.

"Adolpha," Chase spoke to her once again, and Adolpha had to refrain herself from rolling her eyes at him, as she sat there slouched and hiding at the counter. She felt pathetic, and suddenly wished she had simply finished that fruity wine in her abode.

"Yes, Chase?"

"Have you heard of what Mayor Kelo is suggesting?"

Again with this? Adolpha thought through a scowl. She mustered a half-smile, "I'm quite sure I have."

Ignoring her sly remark, Chase continued like a child on an excited rant, "He's suggested to the River's Bed council that we partner with Jasper, Adam's Peak, and Virulent's Forest in an effort to change the official name of Virulent's Forest. He wishes to change it to Jillian's Hope, in honour of his late friend." Adolpha felt a sudden string of emotions, but hid them well with a large swig of her sweetened mead and then slammed a palm onto the table for the bartender's attention. He alerted, and began to refill her delicate glass with no words needing spoken. For one, Adolpha had not heard the name of Virulent's Forest in quite some time, and she had ideally preferred to keep it that way. At the mention of the name, she recalled all that she, Quince, Ajax, and Danica had endured in their time there, all from the moment Quince and Ajax were kidnapped, to the moment Danica found her a change of heart and fought alongside them against Virulent and his army; and then of course, the epitome of it all, as Adolpha and her friends discovered who Virulent truly was. It was then that they had managed to kill them both, but at no short price; for now, Adolpha beared the true weight of the world in her bones, and after a long life, she would die and descend, becoming the second Mother Nature to this earth.

How she missed Mother Nature. Adolpha had not prayed in a long time; she had no one to pray to. After Mother Nature's death, life had felt grey and dull. Even with the beautiful weather thus far, and the continuing of the seasons, and the spinning of the world; even with all of the beauty, it still felt bland, and descension to Adolpha felt more like a sentence to hell. But if she did not take such a position, then who would? It was a fact that her friends and family would never know. To them, she had regained full vision, and lost her ability of sight; to them, she had no powers. But Adolpha knew well and clear that she was the most powerful being to ever walk the earth; she was a God.

And yet, here she was, drinking at a bar in self-pity and loathing, desperate for her daughter's consolation and desperate for her best friend, Quince. As much as she had endured on her journey, and as much as she had hated her journey, she missed the kinship and bond she had felt with the others. Now, everyone who had once spent every night right beside her felt a thousand miles away. All of those that she had met and befriended along the way now stood apart from her, likely never to be seen again; she recalled Johanna and Pebble affectionately, and began to ache with how badly she missed them and worried about them. She recalled Ware, her guardian and the only mother she had really ever known, and the tears threatened to spill. And whenever Adolpha thought of her dear late father, Gabriel, the tears really did spill, rolling in glassy beads down her face and leaving a streak of gleaming wet across peachy, freckled skin in their path.

Chase looked at her with his own wide, glassy brown eyes, concerned, "Did I speak...?"

Adolpha growled, "Why yes, and just too much at that! I don't believe you understand what that name has ever done to us— to me— to everyone in this damned village! I don't believe you will ever understand what that journey was like for any of us."

He frowned, "I'm sorry. It was hard on all of us."

"Hard on all of us?" Adolpha scoffed, glaring at him in the dim, playful light, which suddenly seemed more darkly than anything, "It was hard on me!"

"We were all working to support ourselves and defend our village, meanwhile, none of us knew where you were, if you were to succeed, or even if you were alive at all!" Chase snapped right back. In that moment, Adolpha did not recognise him as that little boy she'd argue with about toys; now, he was a grown man, and an intelligent, independent one at that.