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...

I don't sleep well that night.

I pack my things mechanically that evening, going through the motions that I always went through with Katarina. It's sadly nostalgic, mostly lacking Katarina's presence and the fact that I'm leaving a place I love. I didn't have many attachments in the places I stayed with Kat, but I have an attachment here. It's a weird sinking feeling knowing that I'm going to leave.

At least I have timer to appreciate it. When I moved with Katarina, we always left in a hurry, rushing and just doing it, never thinking about it. Now I have time to think, and I'm finding that's a good and bad thing. For once, I'm leaving something behind instead of abandoning it completely.

Andrew told me to pack light, sticking to the essentials. I'm used to that at this point when it comes to moving around. I'm packing away clothes in a duffel bag now. Jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, sneakers, all of the practical things that I'll need. The raccoon Chimaera, who I've taken to calling Bandit, is sitting on my bed, simply watching me pack. He's good company for now.

Andrew also gave me a small backpack to keep on hand with me. I walk placidly around my room to collect things for inside of it. I walk to my desk and take my sketch pad out of the drawer. I pick it up along with a few pencils in case I wish to draw along the road. Before I slip it in, though, I flip through the pages. There's a scene from the forest, my mug of tea on my desk, and the yellow blanket that Andrew and I use balled up on the floor. I've just taken to drawing what I see. It helps me make memories.

After putting in the sketchpad, I bend down near my bookshelf and pick up two books to bring with me; the first and last books that Andrew bought for me. I've found myself living vicariously through these books, living and experiencing the adventures within them to escape my own life sometimes. It humbles me and helps me. Andrew taught me that books have the power to do amazing things. I place them in my bag with care and sigh, unsure of what else to bring.

"Surely you're not planning on leaving that behind," says a voice near the door. It's Andrew, leaning against the door frame. I look at him curiously until he nods towards my nightstand where my journal lay.

"Oh," I say. I look down in my lap. "Katarina always taught me never to bring things like that, or to get rid of them before we left. They were to dangerous to keep around, if the Mogs ever got their hands on them..."

Andrew slowly walks in and over to my nightstand. He picks up my journal and flips through the pages fleetingly, not looking at any of them in particular. He then looks over and walks to me. He bends down in front of me and holds the journal out to me. "Maren," he says, looking me in the eyes while still gripping the journal. "This is your life. These are your memories." He places the journal in my hand and wraps my fingers around it until he knows I'm holding it securely. "They're worth the risk."

I grip the journal tightly in my hands, but I hesitate as I stare at it. I want to take it; I really do. And if I want to take it that badly, I know that he must be right. This journal is my life, my memories. It contains my happiness. It's important to me. Without another word, I slowly put the journal into my backpack. He nods slowly, as if to tell me that he approves of this decision, that he's glad I made it.

I stand up slowly and go finish packing. Just as I'm nearly finished, Andrew comes back in holding a mug of tea for me. He hands it to me as I sit on the edge of my bed. I sip it. It tastes sweet with the sugar in it. Light, with a hint of apple flavor.

"It's chamomile," he tells me. "It helps you relax." I nod in agreement and sip it again; Heaven knows I need it.

We mostly sit in silence as we drink our tea. There's not much to say, really. Andrew is right; the tea is hot and soothing to me. The silence is only broken when Andrew stands up. He pats my back gently. "Get some sleep, kiddo. You need it," he says quietly. He leans down and kisses my head. "Love you."

I look up at him. "Love you too."

With that, he takes my empty mug and his and leaves. I know he needs sleep too.

...

I lay in bed for a while despite the chamomile tea. I can't fall asleep and just end up tossing and turning for a while.

I can't seem to stop thinking. Thinking about this place, thinking about leaving, and thinking about what's next. I've never experienced this before, being able to think and consider the circumstances I'm facing. Before, it was simply doing, not thinking. For once, I have ties. For once, I have an attachments. For once, I have a life.

For once, I have something to lose.

I can't shake the feeling as I look around my room in the darkness that this will be the last time I ever see this place. The thought scares me, and more than that, it just makes me sad. I love this place. This is my home...

But I'm exhausted, and thinking only makes it worse. The exhaustion wins, and I finally drift to sleep, still unsure.

...

I wake up achy and early the next morning. I get out of bed as I normally do, but I'm stiff and my head feels clouded. This is a grim day for me.

I go out to the kitchen and see that Andrew is already making breakfast, as usual. Opposed to me, his motions are jittery and sporadic, while mine are slow and lethargic. I guess our stress over the situation manifests differently, but they both show.

"Good morning, Maren," Andrew greets me. Despite his apparent nerves, his voice is calm and mellow as it usually is when he addresses me. He starts buttering and jellying the toast as I slide onto the stool.

"Good morning," I reply flatly. He pushes my mug of tea towards me and I take a sip. Its warmth is familiar and comforting, and it eases my stress slightly as I sip it. Andrew is right; tea is an amazing drink, the heal all, cure all.

"Are you all packed?" he asks me quietly, then taking a sip of tea.

I nod weakly, almost regreattably. I wish I didn;t have to be packed. "Everything is in my room..." I tell him, my voice sad. "Ready to go..." My whole life, I've always been ready to move at any moment. This time...I'm not.

He places his hand on mine. "It'll be okay, Maren. We have each other, and that's what matters."

I nod in agreement. I know that he's right.

We eat our breakfast mostly in silence, because there are really no words the can console us. What must be, must be.

...

I gather all of my things and put them in the truck. Andrew has packed food and supplies and everything else we might need, and he's packing it all in too. The Chimaerae jump in the back seat where I laid when Andrew found me in my sickness. They make themselves comfortable as I put all of my stuff in the truck bed.

After that, I do one last walk through of the house. I go to the living room first. The room is still, peaceful. It has always seemed peaceful in here to me. The yellow knit blanket that we always use is folded on the couch. Andrew comes in as I look at it, picks it up, and takes it outside; I guess we're taking it with us. Somehow, that's almost consoling to me

I walk through the kitchen, where we shared all of our meals, tea, and stories. It's where I told him more about Lorien, and where he first told me about constellations. I liik at the tea cabinet and smile at the big jar of tea. I look towards the back door, the one I ran out of when I tried to run away, and the one that I stumbled through when I discovered my elemental manipulation Legacy. There are so many memories here, and memories are the only thing I've been able to hold onto in my life.

I go back to Andrew's room, where I first slept and healed when he brought me here. It's all so familiar to me now, from the curtains on the windows to the pictures on the walls. His bed is neatly made and everything is in place. It's quaint, as it's always been, and it somehow brings a smile to my face.

Last, I walk through my room, the room that Andrew made for me. I remember the day he showed it to me, how I was out of the house while he built it. I remember the cupcake sitting on my desk for my birthday, and the bookshelf when it was once bare. Now the room looks more used, more lived in. My desktop is worn and my bookshelf is much more alive. The rug on the floor doesn't look brand new anymore. This room is mine; it's where I belong. It's where I've learned to live and love. But now I must leave it. I must leave it behind for battle. Such is life.

With one last fleeting look, I try to untie the heart string and turn away. With a pain in my chest, I go meet Andrew on the porch.

He looks at me sympathetically, seeing my obvious sadness as he wraps his arms around me. I embrace him back, trying not to cry, trying not to show the pain. He must know exactly what I'm thinking by his next words.

"This won't be the last time, Maren," he whispers softly. "You'll come back here again."

I look up at him with tears in my eyes. "You think so?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He nods. "Even if something happens...if we get separated or lost..." He presses something into my hand. When I open it, it's a key. A house key. "I know you can always find your way back home."

I stare at my key and think about his words. Home...this is home...

Holding tightly to my small but meaningful gift with a shaking hand, I embrace him again tightly. "Thank you..." I whisper.

He doesn't say anything; he doesn't need to. He just holds me tightly, securely, which is what I need most right now. We stand like that for a while, and I wish we could forever. But we can't.

When we finally release each other, he smiles at me. He guides me towards the truck, away from the house for the final time, and wraps his arm around me.

"All right, kiddo," he says, patting my back. "Let's go save the world."