With that, (Patreon)

Burnside slunk away to sharpen her knives.

Rebecca was lying down in the lodge, recovering from the shocking news I had brought her. The student witches were busy pretending to be busy. There wasn't much for me to do but sit down and rest for a while. I sat on an old log and let my mind wander. When was the last time I had done this? I drifted back through my memories. Most of my early life seemed like it was a whirlwind of activity, constantly going from one place to another. Then, when my banishment truly started, there was nothing to do but rest. And talk to trees. And count dandelions. And make artificial friends out of junk in my Elfintory. And wallow in neverending regret and guilt over my avalanche of failures: I couldn't save Estmere. I caused the Plague of Battles (albeit unintentionally) which led to the collapse of Faerie. I ruined the lives of pretty much all my lowfolk followers. And most recently, there was the massacre of Bunkirk to add to the burdens weighing down my conscience. Even though it was Zandar who did that, I still felt somewhat responsible. Could I have done more to prevent it? Probably, but WHAT?

In the most desperate and helpless moments during my exile, I had been willing to try anything to make the time go faster, even sleeping, despite it not being strictly necessary. It seemed like a good way to skip large chunks of time, and there were some elves who had cultivated the habit, but I had to give it up fairly quickly. Every time I laid down and closed my eyes, my mind would be filled with the most horrific nightmares: Mountains of corpses, the endless wailing of everyone I had failed, the Sisterhood controlling me like a puppet and cackling the entire time, watching the world crumble around me as huge Gaps opened everywhere, the accusing glare of Estmere’s magick-blasted corpse, and worst of all was a vision of Irenaeus himself turning his back on me. No. Sleep was definitely not an option. Not for me.

Being alone with my thoughts was never fun. I shook myself out of my gloomy reverie and got up to find something to distract myself. I spotted a crude well behind the shack where the coven presumably lived, and decided to bring Rebecca some water.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, after entering the lodge and handing Rebecca a mug of well water.

"I’ve been better," she sighed, sitting up and taking a sip from the mug. "But then again I’ve been wor- Actually, no, I’ve never felt worse than this before in my life. In the time that we've been apart, I had my ups and downs. Burnside tried to be helpful, but her perspective isn't what I would call the healthiest. I've tried to hold to the teachings of Seelieness and the loving-kindness of Fuma, but sometimes I wonder: If we really are meant to be kind and love one another, why does Fuma allow so much evil in the world?"

Clearly this was the moment for me to say something, but what? After being separated for so long, my best pupil was in what might possibly be her darkest hour, and she was looking to me for comfort. I wished one of the devout Mephitist monks were here; they'd know what to do! Should I tell one of St. Reynard's classic jokes from the Godspell?  Perhaps recite some rousing tales of battle from the Irenaead?  Maybe I should offer Rebecca that venery she seemed to have wanted from me long ago? (No, probably not...)

What could I say or do to ease her mind?

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