I don't own Daine or Numair.
I feel like such a loser. I mean, I got the name of my muse of inspiration wrong. Dearest Tortall's Resident Wildchild, will you ever find room in your heart to forgive a lonely soul? Shall I dedicate a chapter to you? Perhaps create a character in your honor? Or something of your choosing?
Daine would have been perfectly happy to look out the window and just think, but the jolly cabby would not allow it.
"Whereabouts are you heading, you miss?"
"Well, I don't rightly know. Do you know of a cheap motel where I could stay?"
"Sho' I do. Great l'il place, cheap as you please."
"But . . . is it, um . . . what I mean to say is that does it fit all the health regulations?"
"Oh yes. All the places round here are checked regularly. And this motel is a 10-minute walk to downtown."
"It sounds too good to be true. Please, take me there." Daine leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes, willing herself not to fall asleep just yet.
The cabbie chattered on, talking of this and that.
Numair could barely keep his eyes open during the half-hour bus ride to the college. He nearly missed his stop, but with all the students getting off the bus, it would have been hard to.
Numair lugged his bags to the teachers' rooms. Shuffling whatever he carried, he somehow managed to unlock the door to room 14. Normally, he would have spent the night awake, unpacking and preparing for the first day of school – although it was more that two weeks away – but he felt tired, no, emotionally drained.
Though what exactly had happened in during the day to make him feel this way, he wondered. Unable to fall asleep in the crisp clean sheets, he went through a mental checklist.
Waking up at three to catch the train, no.
Seventeen hour train ride to this college, no.
Meeting Daine on the train . . . no. But even in his mind, the "no" did not sound certain. It was unsure of itself, maybe even a question.
Arriving at college, with anxiety of new school-year, yes. That must be it.
His mind made up, Numair relaxed. Finally, finally, as dawn showed pale pink on the white walls, the gears in Numair's mind slowed their whirling and he slipped into a deep sleep. But they did not stop turning.
Not so far away, on the other side of town, Daine was happily exploring the small apartment. It was by far the best she'd ever stayed in – And I've stayed in a lot, she thought – and the price was unbelievably low.
That's one clean bathroom with working appliances, a large kitchen, a living room with a fold-out bed in the sofa, and a bedroom with a Queen-sized bed! Wow, they sure now how to furnish a place around here.
But something was missing. Daine walked through the entire apartment two more times before she realized the there was no desk.
Look, it's only a desk. I mean, you can write just as well on the kitchen table. Daine thought furiously. But she knew it was not true. The kitchen table was too small, and she liked her papers to be spread out. It will all work out. I need it to all work out. Oh, lord, I have to write. I can't not write. Oh lord oh lord oh lord.
Daine sat down on the couch. She put her head in her hands, curls tumbling to form a curtain around her features.
A woman screaming, an old man's cracked voice yelling at someone, something? Flames rose high around the house, bursting window panes on the bottom floor, consuming all that Daine had ever known. She threw herself at the door, willing for it to open. The brittle wood splintered upon the light force of her slim form. A dark hallway, filled with smoke and flames. She ran to the window. The frame had swollen with the incredible heat, squeaking against searing hot wood. Panicking, she threw her journal at the fiery glass. It shattered. Daine leapt through, cutting herself on the broken shards. She fell, fell, fell two stories and landed on smoldering grass. Snatching her journal from the bite of sparks, she ran, hunched over, to protect her thoughts from becoming ash. She ran far into the woods, leaving behind the flaming shell of her life. Daine glanced behind only once, seeing the roof cave in, the shrill voices of her family coming to an abrupt halt. She ran, fast enough to be mistaken for the hesitant fawns, moving like the elusive wind.
Daine shivered, and acting on some . . . thought, she dug deep into her bags. She searched until dawn glowed pale on the horizon and her numb fingers accepted what her mind refused to: a small book, burnt on the corners, was no longer in her possession.
Well, you know what to do! Please, r&r! And thank you all so much for your reviews. They, like, inspire me. I'd write without reviews, but with them, I think I'm better. I LOVE YOU ALL!