Things That Matter - Yarti/Snakestone

For every far off vista enjoyed in one another’s arms, every city of brass and the dark places in between, we have seen much in our long years. Though, we still occasionally come across curiosities out there in this grand world. Those days were few and far between, but they always make for a memorable one. The journey and the destination, the home and things waiting there, those are what truly matter. The unexpected, the things that surprise you, new sights, new smells, those certainly do add spice to life. But in the end, the trip home always seems more important, more meaningful. To me anyway. Today was to be one of those days I suppose. The night before, we had settled the kids in and arranged caretakers for the next day or so. We were to have an outing of our own, just a walk I thought. A mere walk lead to a carriage ride. Down to Ilinalta to enjoy mid-day amidst it’s majesty. The first day ended on a high note as I slept against Snake’s chest in the back of the carriage. We arrived in the morning and walked west along it’s beautiful shores, losing track of time along the way. We would walk a bit, rest a bit, spend our time together, then walk again. It was a good day and well worth the trip. When we had thought the day done, we turned around. Seemingly tracing our steps back eastward, we came upon a little villa along the edge of the lake. The cabins, a fine dark wood. The shingles, a shimmering crimson. A ruined and overgrown wall ran about it’s length, and dockworks dotted it’s shoreline. It was a place we had never seen, though I was certain that we had been through this way before. It was a quiet place. Generally, one expects to hear the bustle of the town. A livelihood that is hard to hide. Yet there was none, not a distant murmur, no working of metal or wood, not even that of livestock. Onward, to the center of the town we went by thud of boot and click of sandal. Not a soul on the streets. My arm sought comfort around Snake’s waist as we wove our ways between streets and cobbled corners. At last, we approached what appeared to be the center. Snake shuffled through his bags before producing a map. His brow furled, he stared deep into it’s worn ink. A confused look about his face.

“How long have we been walking?” he pondered, scratching his chin.

“Just through the evening?” I was unsure of even that.

He grunted and returned to the map.

“Are we lost?”

His eyes darting back and forth, leaving the map just long enough to scan the horizon for landmarks. I looked to him then turned. I thought to have a look around, maybe make some sense of this place. Off to our right, I walked down an alleyway, ears at full perk, hoping to catch some sort of sound. Yet found nothing. I crept around the next corner, cautiously easing my view around it and into the adjacent alley. Nothing there nor across the other way. Ahead, I found the port much the same. From the street, I waded waist high grass to reach it. I suppose it would be little more than knee high grass to someone like Snake, but for me it proved difficult in this dress. Two vessels tied down but empty. I found the sound of waves washing across their sides, the occasional creak of wood, but no more. I stood there for some time, listening to the ships rock in place. It eased some of the eeriness of this place, but I could not linger. Through the weeds again, I approached a facing cabin. My right hand rose to meet the door. Three gentle knocks, then a pause. I held ear to door. Hand rising again, I knocked. With some dignity this time. Nothing. Aside from the echo, silence. Beginning to lose my temper, this tiny hand assaulted the door. Three more heavy knocks, rocking it in it’s frame. If I had hit a loose woman with that force she’d be on the ground. Yet there was no reply. I crept along it’s wall to the nearest window, up onto tiptoes I peered. Despite wiping the pollen and soot from the glass, I could see little inside. No movement, most importantly. I had done all I could. I turned the corner, returning to Snake to see if he had made any progress.

He stood in the same place with that same expression. In front of him I rose, my eyes dipping over the top of the map.
“Is everything alright?” I squeaked. My breath tickling the bottom of map, making it wiggle in his grip. It brought a smile to my lips. I exhaled again just to see the map waver. He looked up from his work, flashing a quick smile and shut his eyes. He thought for a moment. His eyes opened in time to see the waning daylight cast the villa into violet shade. He then spoke.

“We are not lost. The mountains, Ilinalta, we are where we should be. This town is a mystery though.” Folding the map and tucking it away, he sighed again, more contently this time. Our eyes met, tiredness laid bare. In them, little else need be said.

“A mystery for another time.” I concluded.

My fingers found his waistband and held him close as went in search of the inn. Finding none, a small cabin along the north wall seemed out of the way enough. By glow of palm, the door was open. Without hesitation, we shuffled inside, lit the fireplace and fell into each-others arms. The passion of the night faded alongside the crackling of the timbers. We woke to a cold room. Collecting our strewn clothes and kindling another flame, Snake went to the door to see if the town had livened up in our absence. The streets lay bare as the evening before, the sound of my breakfast chores far louder than anything happening out there. We had a small meal, packed our things and set out once more. The kids were likely restless by now and I had grown more worried with the coming morning. There would be no further investigation, not today. Every mystery need not be solved. Past empty streets we went. To and out the gates by thud and click, homeward, to tend to the things that truly matter.