(( Continued from: viewtopic.php?f=3&t=3328 ))

Abeline was quick to pack; there was little she absolutely needed, and she always kept a travel bag ready in case of dire emergency. Most of her time had been spend looking for it, buried as it had become under sedimentary layers of books, old clothes, nick-knacks, and widgets. The small room looked like it had been through a mild earthquake by the time she found her quarry. None of the necessary items had migrated out of the bag, at the very least.

Then, of course, there was the age-old question, which she had spent some whiles contemplating. What books to bring?

Once she'd made her decision, it was still only one o'clock. The extra time was used pragmatically; bathing occurred, hair was brushed, and clean clothes were donned. All this with some speed.

By the time two o'clock rolled around, Healer Ixbridge was at the aqueduct gate, sitting on the ground beneath a streetlamp. Still as a statue, she might have appeared to be a tiny monument to meditation. The illusion was only destroyed by the occasional flicking of her hand. A book was in her lap, and she absorbed in its paper world.

Twenty minutes elapsed without a sight or a sound of anyone save the Seventen guards, silently at their posts. At long last the sound of footsteps reached Abeline's ears.

Harper Moore was not laden with his usual assortment of scientific equipment; indeed, he looked as though he hadn't packed at all. He was dressed in his saddest greatcoat and his shortest top hat, unimportant clothes that made him practically invisible. He nodded briefly to her when he came into view under the lamplight, wondering how she could read at a time like this; every nerve in his body jangled with excitement.

"I've got a carriage waiting," he said, thanking his stars that he had made friends with a courier not two weeks ago over a mix-up at the bakery. He put out a hand to help her stand up. "We should be quick. I'd rather not attract any unwanted attention."

Looking from side to side, he frowned and spoke in a lower voice. "I don't mean to alarm you, Abeline, but my laboratory was swarming with Seventen."

She nodded up at him, taking his hand without a thought. Before she realized what she'd done, she was standing. The book was closed with a soft thump, and her digits became aware of the cool night air and the dim, recent memory of heat.

She'd touched him. Earlier that night, she would have considered it a grievous offense against him, her Hero. And rightly so. He'd earned her respect a thousandfold before she ever met him. Then, after she had betrayed him the first time, he selflessly caught her when she fell and shielded her from harm with his own (rather potent) magic. Little wonder, then, that she'd come to worship him as though he were the embodiment of Rightful Conduct itself. But now...

If was as if she'd put a damp towel to her head. The fever dreams were lifted, the scorching zeal gone. Relief and cold reality seeped in, tempering flames, soothing the symptom.. though not curing the illness.

He was not a gods-given blessing to Vita. He was just a man. A man with his own needs and desires, plans for his own life.. plans he'd have to give up, just as she had hers. Being young, she still had flexibility in that regard; she hadn't spent years (decades?) working steadily in the lab, sacrificing everything, chasing an ever-elusive breakthrough.

Well, that breakthrough had come. It probably wasn't what he'd hoped it would be; no acclaim, no acceptance back into the academic fold. If no one reminded him, did he know how remarkably brilliant he was? She'd tried to tell him, but he never seemed to believe her...

No matter, she thought, walking on in a calm daze. There's more here than two lost souls.

"Then let's make haste," the healer whispered distantly.

Until our work is done, you're stuck with me, my dear.

Why hadn't he just stayed home? He could have drank at home. But no, he wanted to experience the Stacks in all its glory. He remembered his days as a student. He rarely spent any time in the Stacks, preferring to quietly drink in his room while studying. He decided to go to one of the many pubs in the Stacks, planning on getting completely sloshed. His plan was working perfectly until he started picking on some human server. He was forced out of the establishment by some giant human. What was this world coming to? He was just having some fun.

Making his way towards the gate was easier than Algernon thought, which didn't make him happy. He was only a bit tipsy, not a good feeling when you want to lose all inhibition for a night.

He finally made it through and pass the gate. Now the biggest problem was navigating through the streets of Brunnhold to his flat. But before that, there was an obstacle. His superior.

"Healer Ixbridge?" Algernon had to double take. "Have I gone moony? What are you doing out this late with . . . Professor Harper?" His eyes widened at the scene. "Oh! I'm sorry, didn't mean to interrupt anything."

This was not the first time that the professor felt as though his words of caution were being illustrated in real life, as though by some sadist author intent on tossing obstacles in his path. Had he been aware of the term, he might have said jinx. But as the very definition of 'unwanted attention' tottered drunkenly near the two of them, he could only think of the word damnation.

"Harper's my given name, actually," he said rather stiffly, hoping this acquaintance of Abeline's would turn out to be someone she rather disliked, and that they could move onward with their plans without a torturous session of small talk. "It's Professor Moore. We were, ah..." He glanced around for a suitable excuse. Finding none, he settled on "Sightseeing."

Harper sized up the strange Hessean, not wanting to seem rude but unable to stop his curious eyes. The man didn't look too threatening, and Harper was not concerned that he would mention he had seen them. A drunken witness was hardly a witness at all, but drunks were loud, and might draw in the Seventen to investigate, and then all sorts of nasty avenues for delay would open up. He hoped that Abeline would have the good sense to avoid engaging him in conversation.

Momentarily at a loss, she gave Harper a skeptical look. Sightseeing?

But an idea came soon enough. A rather evil idea.. but it would make a logical cover.

"Don't worry, he's a friend," Abeline said gently, clasping the professor's hand with both of hers. The blush was much too easy to conjure, but it was necessary to play the part. Instantly, she let go again, pacing to her drunken colleague.

"Shh, Algy," she whispered, just loud enough that Harper could hear. "Algy, please don't tell anyone. If my father found out, why, I don't know how he'd take it," she lied, knowing precisely what the old prune would do (he'd congratulate her on her entrepreneurship, the wonderful thing). "And with his heart the way it is.. well, it'd be better for my father's health if he didn't find out just yet."

The bespectacled healer chewed her lip, genuinely embarrassed, as she racked her brain for proof for her unlikely yarn. Not that Algernon was anything but a gullible lamb, but if the Seventen were involved, someone would question him. Pointedly, and with a pointy thing. He'd crack instantaneously if he didn't have a reason to stay quiet. And he seemed like he might be the romantic sort, if just a little.

Noting her fingers were unadorned, she added, "We haven't gotten the rings yet. We'll be getting those in the country. We're going to Plugit. What with the Cartographer's Convention, we figured it wouldn't be too strange to see a pair of.. of.. er.. galdori.. there. You know."

She glanced at her faux fiancé, hoping he'd gotten the picture by now. "Right, Honeybiscut? Plugit?"

Algernon blinked thrice rapidly, he was unsure of what to make of the situation. A newly appointed healer rendezvousing with a professor in questionable standing. It was not something one would see everyday, but on that day Algernon was witness.

A bitter Hamis breeze struck him out of his confusion. "Well," He said with a cryptic tone. "what are we going to do about this?" He shook his head disapprovingly, though to any on looker he could have just been vibrating. "I know!" His shout rang out in every direction. "I'll buy you two a drink! See there, you thought I was going to tell on you. I would do nothing of the sort. I just like fooling people." Algernon may have thought himself a jest at times, but he was never the least bit clever when intoxicated.

Shuffling through his pocket, Algernon gave the appearance of a learned vagabond. The way he searched through it as if he was searching for some inconceivable tiny tome. But then he pulled out his true treasure; three hats.

"One drink for each of us!" He exclaimed.

Harper's expression of mortification, in a certain kind of light, might have been mistaken for mere surprise and embarrassment. Luckily the moon was right to pass off the confused flush as modesty. Honeybiscuit?

Without warning, the part of him that was still angry with Abeline rose out of its seat and coughed politely, and rallied with it the impulsive and inventive parts of him.

"Well, that's very kind of you, my friend, very kind," he said, giving Abeline a sidelong glance. "Generous, too. But you see, it's so difficult to find time alone in this environment. I'm afraid the lady and I were just on our way to a late-night carriage ride, and we'll be late if we tarry much longer."

What she had said before about his reputation must be true; Algernon had not seemed overly surprised to hear of their "courtship." Harper felt indignant for a moment, simply because if he had been courting anyone, they wouldn't have been sneaking around at night like fugitives from social justice. No, it would be an entirely daytime endeavor, possibly one with fishing trips and visits to museums, and those fussy umbrellas women always carried for some reason. He had never had much occasion to enact those plans, of course, but he assumed as much.

Oh well, he thought. It wasn't as though he intended to return to Brunnhold, and the judgmental eyes of the faculty would be the least of his worries if he did. If Algernon let the cat out of the bag, it would probably die of starvation.

Picking up Abeline's hand in his own, he smiled brightly to her friend, squeezing her fingers gently in rebuke. "We should really be on our way, er...Abeline," he said, trying and failing to think of a pet name for her, and rather disgusted that she had invented one for him so easily.

Well! At least something worked tonight. Of course, it had to be the embarrassing deception; lies and humiliation seemed to be the only things she could get right, in all her life.

And she--weasel though she was--was one of two people who knew the world was in jeopardy. Although she was still skeptical, Abeline was a pessimist. It didn't matter that she didn't quite comprehend everything Harper said, or that she doubted she had any applicable skills re: world-saving, she was quite ready to believe all of existence was going to end in two seconds. Because that was precisely how she felt.

"Ah, haha," she inhaled, noting the disapproval at the edge of the professor's tone. As an excellent but unorthodox student, she'd become finely attuned to the sound of concealed reproach, and she tried to be additionally attuned to this teacher. She instinctively sensed an impending lecture, and it suddenly hung over her imagination like a hammer over glass. "Y-yes, dear. We should."

Determined not to enjoy the squeeze--honestly, the timing was not ideal--she smiled chipperly to the inebriated party. The acute muscular seizure in her chest could easily be covered by going on her toes, a stupid, feminine gesture she would normally avoid. However, from up here, she was also prepared to break and run if necessary.

As outright fleeing wasn't immediately on the menu, she let a small portion of her excess nervous energy be displaced with a wave of her hand and a ridiculous twiddling of her fingers.

"Ta-ta, Algy!"

A sullen expression formed across the Hessean's face. All he wanted to do since his arrival in the red halls of Brunnhold was to go out to a pub in the Stacks with a group of friends. It seemed that his wish might take a bit longer than needed.

He placed the coins back in his pocket. They made a ching sound when they hit a sole concord in his pocket. It was the only sound for yards, besides the grasshoppers.

Weighing his options carefully (Well, as carefully as a drunk man could), he decided against intruding and just heading on his merry old way.

"So long, you two lovely lovebirds." Algernon smiled, oddly; to say the least. He began to stroll off, humming a drunk tune to himself.

Harper couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. He was clearly starved for company; there had been occasions in his own life when he had felt the same way, few and far between though they were.

Nevertheless, they were on a mission, quite possibly the most important one of their lives. They had a carriage to catch, a mystery to solve, an ambassador to convince...there was no time for drinks; there wasn't even enough time to finish thinking a sent-

"Let's go," he said, tugging Abeline's hand gently.

As they began walking towards the Stacks, he couldn't help feeling he should say something, perhaps comment on the ridiculous farce she had just pulled out of thin air. How was she so good at it? She was bright, to be sure, with the keen intellect of someone who never stops learning despite having finished school. But there was a conniving side to her lying that went beyond knowledge, straight into the realm of instinct.

"You're very...convincing," he commented mildly, possessed by the tension of the moment to speak his mind. His voice sounded interested. "It makes you a very dangerous woman, you know. I can never tell when you're being sincere; you have the rare ability to appear genuine at will." He glanced over at her. Inadvertently, it had come out of his mouth sounding to his ears more like an insult than a compliment - perhaps the side effect of some lingering resentment. "It's a useful skill," he added. "Of course, he's going to tell everyone, I'm afraid."

As they walked, Abeline stared down the twisting, winding streets, down cobbled roads, down rivulets and rivers of thought. Down paths not yet made real. In her mind, she watched them get eaten up by.. by what, she did not have a name for.

"Always keep them guessing," she mumbled absently, hooking her arm around his. Walking arm-in-arm would help suspend disbelief of any other passers-by. Flawless logic, here.

"It's good they'll talk. It'll provide us a cover. We'll need one if the Seventen--" She snapped her eyes on him, like a whip. "Why are there Seventen in your office?"

Her perplexed state was heightened when she at last noticed his attire (if it could be called that). She chuckled out of pure confusion. "And why are you dressed like a criminal?"

He had momentarily forgotten the matter of the Seventen; the warm weight of her arm had been drawing him rapidly into the clouds, protesting loudly, in a metaphorical way. The question brought him back down to earth, and he frowned, equally perplexed.

"It was my laboratory," he corrected her, "and I have no idea. I only saw it through my scrying glass, and I'm very glad I checked. There must have been ten of them in there, turning everything inside out...it looked as though they were searching for something. I didn't dare go back to my house, so I took the change of clothes I had in my office."

His house...he wondered sadly if they would break his antique mirror. He would have liked to have packed some things. As it was, he had only the contents of his no-longer-secret file box stashed in the pocket of his greatcoat.

"The last time this happened, I thought it was the work of student vandals," he mused, "but perhaps it was more sinister than I imagined. Are we going to pretend to be..." He struggled with the proper term, finally settling on a delicate raising of the eyebrows. "...the entire time we're in Vienda?"

"Your lab...?" While the professor talked, the healer fell into silent agitation.

How dare they! Did they even have a warrant!? Unless Anaxas was suddenly a totalitarian state, galdori still had rights, dammit. She could just see those green tarts manhandling the equipment and breaking all manner of expensive widgets. Sending carefully-indexed files into disarray.. even destroying hard-won research. The bastards.

They'd probably 'interview' the passives, too. Triston...

What would the girl say? Abeline almost wanted to be there to hear it, or, better yet, to stop it. They might hurt her.. might induce a diablerie.. The effects of a diablerie occurring to a pregnant passive were, as of 2712, unstudied (owing in large part to the teensy issue of ethics). Would the baby be killed--would Triston, for that matter?

"I hope not." Abeline heard herself speak the last line of her internal monologue, startling herself. Flip back a few pages-- he asked a question? Oh.. oh, dear. It was a doozie.

"B-but," she sucked in a breath, "we may have to."

Blushing, she tried to picture icebergs drifting under a cold, bleak sky. Calm and collected and unfeeling--that's what she had to be, if the world were to have any chance.

"Provided Algernon is a poor friend, he'll say we've gone to Plugit. I gave him a false destination with that in mind.. there is a method to my madness." Although, she wished she knew what it was. "Hopefully that will buy us a bit of time. Running off the same night the Sevens search the lab really will look suspicious. They'll want to find us."

"If they succeed..." Her heart leapt, her vision blurred; she realized exactly where this thought process would lead. It was a horrible idea that really ought to be shot down, but it was the only solution she could come up with. Regardless, she'd have to build up to it. One doesn't just blurt out this sort of proposition. "...w-we will need to convince them it's a coincidence."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I don't follow."

She was assuming that the Seventen were in the laboratory searching on account of him. Much as he wanted to spare her distress, he recognized that he could not possibly voice his true suspicions, and Professor Devlin's odd flight from his flat might strike her as further cause for distrust. True, Harper had his own theories, but in his experience the truth was rarely as exciting or interesting as what his mind came up with when left to its own devices.

And they needed Devlin. The professor had never felt so out of his depth; he felt as though he were hanging by his fingertips over a vast chasm, his feet kicking into empty air beneath him.

While the professor felt on the edge, the healer felt past it. No longer was she walking on solid earth, but beyond it. Yet, she was not falling, despite the air being unable to support her. Nor was it faith that held her aloft in some beneficent reward for piety; she had none. Instead, she strode on nothing, defying gravity by sheer will alone.

Where there was nothing to stand on, she made it up. Necessity was the mother of invention, after all. And there was no greater necessity than.. than...

She could not fall; thus, she would not.

"Eh.." Clearly, she was having difficulty concentrating on the conversation. So trivial! (Appalling, really, that Seventen and falsely false intentions were now minor obstacles.) Perhaps, as well, she was not inclined to elaborate; her eyes flicked away, from one building to the next, and she swallowed ruefully.

"It's.. if we continue.. like this.. they might want some kind of proof. Otherwise, they'll think we bolted because we're guilty of something. And I don't know about you, but I am." She looked to him, letting her glasses slide down her nose. "Jail would be rather inconvenient. I'd prefer to not attend."

"What are you proposing?" he asked. "To present as though we're..."

Though his initial instinct was to balk and reject the idea out of hand, the infuriating truth of it finally reached him. Abeline probably thought the laboratory was being searched because of them. And he could not bring himself to indicate otherwise, for fear of pushing her suspicion on to Devlin; his basic discomfort at the thought of cavorting around town with her would not be a good enough excuse, and while she still assumed their actions were being closely monitored, it would be suspicious of him not to go along with this harebrained plan she had concocted.

At least, for now.

"I suppose it would allay suspicion..." he said, imagining the embarrassing and frustrating weeks to come. He no longer felt the mad, gleeful little twinge he had felt before when seeing her; though he scolded the creative part of his brain for being so dramatic, he had to admit that every moment with Abeline now felt like a torture designed especially for him by some brilliant, misandric madman.

"It is rather a horrible idea, isn't it?" No humor in her voice--humility and regret instead.

He didn't care for her. She knew that. Yes, he had always been polite to her, but it was in his nature. He'd be polite to his worst enemy. And she had detected that undercurrent of frustration before; she'd grown accustomed to it due to its ubiquity, but it stung rather fiercely then. She'd forgive him if he thought she was an idiotic little girl, always getting in the way. A liability. She'd forgive him, because she knew the truth was much worse.

"I won't even attempt to defend it," she added quietly. If the professor didn't have his arm locked with hers, a cold anchor to reality, she'd be wandering off in a daze, seriously considering joining Catherine in the lake. But that wasn't the plan. Harper claimed to need her, though she couldn't comprehend why, like so many of the other things he said. How she was at all useful to him was still a mystery. If he was just using her as a sounding board, he'd have better luck with a brick wall. The bricks wouldn't criticize him.

"Maybe you could come up with something better?" she asked, genuinely hopeful. Her arm, very gently, tried to sidle itself free. Honestly, I'd rather jump off the Astronomy Tower than continue to be a nuisance to you, she almost wanted to add, but that kind of exaggeration would probably just annoy him more (assuming it was an exaggeration at all).

Hopefully, Harper would be the brilliant man he was and end this line of reasoning once and for all--it really deserved a fiery death. Marry him, indeed! Pure girlish stupidity.

A cadence in her tone forced him out of his self-reflection for a moment, and he glanced down at her. A moment ago she had been confident and sure of herself, but now it seemed another person entirely was hooked onto his arm, someone apologetic and self-deprecating. Her self-esteem seemed to hinge on his opinion.

"Abeline," he said seriously, "I honestly cannot keep up with you in this regard. I'm no good at this. We'll do what you think is best."

Privately, he felt it didn't matter one bit; that Hessean gentleman was sure to let the proverbial cat out of the bag as soon as he sobered up (Harper's opinion of those who allowed themselves to be drunk was not generous), and the reputation would be cemented regardless of how he conducted himself with Abeline from here on out. But in the wake of the more dire realizations of earlier that evening, it hardly seemed to matter. Much more important was keeping her on board, on his side, and not riddled with self-doubt, which could only exacerbate their problems. He resolved to be kinder to her, for his usual methods of social interaction were clearly not doing either of them any good.

In the interests of science, progress and the continuation of life on the planet, he gave her a small encouraging smile.

Abeline saw his smile, assumed that it was forced, and chided herself. Maybe he didn’t hate her, per se. He was still a good man (probably); he might have felt some kind of common, decent concern for her. Obviously, he didn’t know her very well.

She really shouldn’t let her self-depreciation out in public like that. It tended to disturb people, and they never seemed to understand when she tried to explain its purpose.

Not an element of her natal character, insecurity had evolved as a result of her inexcusable arrogance. Mistakes made in early childhood had left permanent marks on the thoughtful girl. Only once did she assume the fastest way down a tree was also the best (slight tardiness to supper was, she learned, better than a broken ankle and the significant delays associated with hobbling home).

As such, she had realized early on that the body was an imperfect tool of the mind, and that the mind itself was fallible. Hesitancy was the product of painful memory, a precautionary counterbalance meant to prevent her from making fatal errors.

Abeline had grown so used to it that it was not an uncomfortable feeling. Rather, she wore it like a coat to keep her safe from cold reality.

“What I would like to do is just go straight there and find out what the hell is going on.” Some of her confidence had returned, it seemed. Or at least her frankness. “But the fastest way is not always the best. With so little preparation, we’d wind up starving, eating poisonous mountain berries, and getting lost inside a panther’s belly. Not ideal conditions for science, one must admit.”

But there wasn’t a sly grin to reinforce her show of humor--only an impatient cant to her brow, a resigned inhalation.

“It would just be on paper,” she said, almost as an aside. “Just something tangible to shove in the Seventens’ faces. They like things with official-looking signatures and fancy seals. Although, if they don't come looking for us, the whole thing would be moot.” Momentarily, a studious frown developed from her mental calculations. She was clearly trying to convince herself in the same breath she was explaining it to him. “Anyway. I wouldn't hold you to the terms of the contract; you’d still be a free man as far as I’m concerned. Not that we’d have time for--” An exasperated snort. “I-I mean. We’d get it annulled the instant this is all over. It’d be like it never actually happened, legalistically speaking.”

“Your future would still be yours,” she concluded, still speaking in hypotheticals, but nodding with the slightest satisfaction. It was still a very bad idea, but now it was a very bad idea with some fake logic attached. “Provided we have a future at all, of course.”

Part of Harper's brain froze suddenly. Fortunately, it was not the part that controlled his legs, or he might have stopped dead in the street - or crumpled like a leggy pile of jelly to the cobblestones.

Marriage. She was talking about marriage.

He wasn't sure what he had thought she meant - perhaps, if caught, they could have acted affectionate, or perhaps worn rings in a symbolic gesture, or - but marriage?! And not a false one, not an undocumented white lie to appease the parents - actual, legal marriage. With paper.

"Well, my mother will be happy," he mumbled, unable to think of anything useful to say. Free man - hah!

They rounded the corner and came to the gate, and Hanson's Livery was within sight. The carriage he had managed to requisition was a little nicer than before; he had pulled his savings out of the Muffey Savings and Loan the week before, perhaps anticipating something in the way of a midnight flight, and he hadn't felt like another terrifying ordeal with a near-dead mare on the way to Vienda. It had wheels that looked solid enough, and a horse that had all of its legs and both eyes.

He offered to help her into the carriage, feeling increasingly awkward, but it was a mixed blessing, as he was finally able to take his mind off the phenomenon they had witnessed.

"So..." he said once they had been seated, struggling to swallow the growing lump in his throat. "I, er...are we having a wedding, or...?"

"What? Wedding? Good heavens, no," she tisked, setting her bag chastely between them. "We're going to elope. It'll look more authentic."

Glancing out the window, she added, "I'd rather not involve family, if possible. Just the court. Maybe a witness, but only if it's necessary--we can hire a street urchin if need be."

The healer peered over her spectacles at him, guarded. "Like I said, just on paper. And extremely temporary. Nothing real about it." In her steely gaze was something verging on the fearful. She would be entrusting more to him than her name. "Please."

The more she thought about it, the more horrible the idea was. She didn't have much, but.. he could take all of it if he wanted. Could she possibly wheedle out of it...? Probably not.

"I wasn't serious," he said, realizing this was as awkward for her as it was for him, and chiding himself for his silly question. He was determined not to let on that he had personal issues with marriage. "Sorry."

He flicked the reins, and the horse set off at a brisk trot. The carriage squeaked and pulled out of the muddy yard, and onto the well-traveled road that led to Vienda. The sky was inky black and dotted with stars, but there was enough moonlight to see by; thankfully, the rain had let up a bit.

"I was nearly married once," he said after a while.

Harper wasn't entirely certain why he said this; what could possibly bring him to dredge up these memories for the benefit of someone who clearly knew far too much already about his personal life? She seemed sad, like this ruse was personally painful to her, and he wondered why she had suggested it in the first place.

Not wanting to leave that sentence hanging, he swallowed and went on. "What I mean is...I've still got the rings, in my deposit box in Vienda. If you think that would help."

Silence. Blessed, uncomfortable silence. It felt like a rarity these days, but that may have been for the best. Logistics still had to be hashed out, as much as she just wanted to curl up and...



Burning curiosity aside, her ever-active mind flitted not to his past, but to her own. Poetry, soft and sweet, pulled her further from the present.

Our strange paths are wove and tread,
Tapestry-tales of wand'rings read
By souls made whole and later shred.

"So was I," she sighed. A fact she had told no one save her father, but a fact nonetheless.

"I only have one ring, an heirloom, worth I-don't-know-how-much. Fifty concords, at least." Cradling her forehead in her palm, she bit her lip. Openness. He needed it--they both did. They had to trust each other; it was imperative at this point. "But when I tried to give it to her, she fled the country."

Abeline shrugged to him. "It's yours if you want it. Not much I can do about that."

"Oh..." He blinked. It was true; he had never asked her if she was married, perhaps out of fear that she would reciprocate the question. Now he felt foolish for bringing it up. "I didn't mean to sell," he said, a little helplessly.

It was unlike him to be curious about other people's lives, but he could not stop himself wondering. Perhaps this was why she was so mistrustful, he thought. The word heartbroken was meaningless to him; attraction stemmed from the brain, as the heart was merely another organ in the body, not even the most vital of organs in the grand scheme of things. But he understood let down, and he understood pain, however rudimentary his understanding of the language of social interaction.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," he said, fumbling a little at the reins.

It seemed a worthless thing to offer, but it sounded sincere. She was only a bit older than he had been. Too young for marriage in these modern times, he thought; too young to make that kind of decision. It was better to be the one who got hurt, he imagined. It was possible to move on; he reasoned that guilt was a deeper wound than disappointment. But he thought it would be disrespectful to say so.

"I think some people, at that age, just aren't ready," he said. "Most come to understand the importance of...things like that. Connections, I mean. But some are just..." He shrugged sadly. "There's no reaching them."