You are a splendid butterfly
It is your wings that make you beautiful
And I could make you fly away
But I could never make you stay
"All My Little Words" ~ The Magnetic Fields
It's like walking on a boat bobbing on the waves.
Ava felt woozy after her long shift; her legs were heavy and her head aching as she trudged back to the dispensary.
Maker, I am so tired. How much sleep have I had in the last few days?
In less than a few hours the orderlies would begin their tiresome pilgrimage, knocking on her door, calling out to her. Not to mention the orders already tucked away in her satchel.
And yet, it wouldn't be all unwelcome this time: the exhaustion, the late nights at the infirmary, the busy chatter around her. They helped distract her.
She wondered guiltily if her motives for wanting to assist at the infirmary were as altruistic as people surrounding her wanted to believe. She had flung herself into her work as if it were the only thing keeping her from becoming unhinged. Events beyond her control had already been set into motion, and she had to keep her head above the waves, she repeated to herself. Adan had not shown up. Rumor had it he'd sequestered himself at the armory, too busy conducting experiments and expounding on theories on alchemical reactions likely to dissipate sulfurous gases, to grace the infirmary or the dispensary with his presence.
It made her angry how eager he was to flee his existence as an apothecary. She realized, with needling irritation, that he had probably leapt at the opportunity the moment it had been dangled before his face.
He likely seized at it without a second thought, she thought.
Without a second thought to what? And why should he? He's not a frivolous man. He is focused and determined. The only one nurturing foolishness was you, Ava, she scolded herself. He can move on because he was never here in his mind…or heart.
She skid and teetered over a slippery patch of ice. A firm hand gripped her elbow as she attempted to regain her footing.
As if from thin air, she turned bewildered.
She beheld Cole's comforting face before her.
"Cole!" she whispered gladly. "I have been wondering how you were doing ever since that night!" she told him, readjusting her satchel's strap.
Cole fell into step beside her.
"I am, but not as I was, and I don't know what'll be."
Ava listened and then grinned.
"Is it a riddle?"
"No!" he said, surprised. "A truth."
"The truth about all of us, I'd say," she sighed.
He peered at her curiously.
"Lock it away, don't look—if I can't see it, it doesn't exist," he said. She stared ahead and continued walking.
"I'll be fine," she told him, looking over her shoulder.
"How?" Cole asked.
It rips and tears.
"You wish it wasn't so, but it is and what do you make of it, before it makes something of you?" he wondered, genuinely intrigued.
She finally turned to him when they reached the door to the dispensary. She appeared absorbed in thought.
"Show me," he implored.
The trail she'd already walked, I could step into the tracks, to guide me, he thought. Do as we do, he remembered Evelyn telling him.
"I don't know…I think I am in the dark as well. I don't know how long I can keep this up for," she admitted.
The anchors break in the heaving swell, caught in the undertow, buoys listing in the storm tossed sea. It may just be the incoming tide, but for the shore, it is the end of the world.
He waited for a sign from her, almost beseechingly, she realized. What do I know of the affairs of spirits? she argued to herself.
But I know pain and sadness when it presents itself.
An idea took hold of her thoughts. "I can show you," she agreed. "We can try. Together," she smiled.
"Put your hand here!" Ava cried anxiously. "And press down!"
Cole leapt to her side, bewildered.
It leaks and oozes, burst pipes, who can stem the rain—
"Cole, pay attention!" she called to him. "I need to get someone! Press down!" she ordered, nervously, searching for something in the room. "Press down, Cole! Mean it!"
"Is it bad?" the groggy man groaned, trying to see what the commotion was over.
"No, but you are," she said crossly. "You aren't supposed to scratch and tug at the sutures!"
The man moaned, she didn't know if out of regret or discomfort. She scurried out into the dimly lit hall of the infirmary, searching for one of the physicians.
"You'll be lucky if you don't get an infection." Her complaint traveled in from the hallway as her boots drummed over the smooth floor.
The man examined Cole.
"She gets mad at me. It seems I am here all the time," he sighed glumly.
"You are getting better," Cole said, both arms extended as he held the pile of gauze and cloth over his abdomen in place.
"I'm bleeding," he retorted with a cynical smirk.
"No—that is getting better too, but I meant you. The skill will match the fearlessness. Someday," Cole told him. The man glanced up at him sheepishly. "He would have died if you hadn't stepped in. The others cowered, all knew they were outmatched, but it didn't matter to you. 'Not here, not again, Andraste guide my sword—'" Cole recalled the man evoking the words before the battle that had landed him in the infirmary. The man's eyes watered.
"I like you," he smiled faintly, crinkling his nose between the pangs of discomfort.
"I don't," he stated gravely. "Me, I mean. Not like this. But I like you, too."
Cole appeared distracted, as if listening attentively. "He comes, salve in hand, it will sting and pull, but Ava will relent in the end—she always does."
"Pudding?" the man whispered with hopeful enthusiasm.
Cole glanced at the doorway and nodded conspiratorially.
"Ah!" He pursed his lips, lying back into his pillow. He could almost savor it.
Dizzying, all facets capture the light, Cole noticed. From the pain, the fear, the expectation, and remorse, all flowing along, between, beside, silken and curling within innards and entrails. He surmised it made sense when they talked about 'having the guts,' or 'taking heart' anytime it came to feelings and courage: everything had to fit in the same space, somehow.