A Not So Happy Reunion (Evora)

[Bartal]

10th Day of Summer, 512 AV Late Afternoon The Flower Stand His nose was buried into a thick cluster of colorful flowers, inhaling the fragrant scent of the fresh blossoms. Bartal had come here often when he was little. The flowers reminded him of outside the walls, where things were better. Now, as an adult, every time he came into the city he always stopped by to say hello to Atta. He of course had seen her often as a child when he came to her stall with Rosemary, who had also worked with plants. It brought back very fond memories of his childhood each time he saw the old woman and her trove of flowers. Then those memories often turned into nostalgia. Maybe he was a pessimist. "If you keep smelling those flowers dear, there won't be enough fragrance left for whoever buys them," Adda piped up from her spot close by. Bartal leaned up to give her a long-suffering look. Of course it wasn't a serious one and she knew it. Someone of Adda's age couldn't be fooled so easily by such a simple thing. "I'm only smelling them so much so that I might mask the foul odor of this city that keeps staunching up my nostrils," he explained to her with an attempt at sounding annoyed over her jibe. She smiled and the abundance of wrinkles spider-webbing her face deepened in a pleasant way. Age suited her well. She had ripened gracefully, he always thought. What he said about the smell was true. This city had a very pungent odor. Sewage, sweaty bodies, and many other things crammed into a stone box. Coming to the flower stand always put his nose at ease at least for a little while. Too bad the whole city couldn't smell like this. Sometimes Bartal wished he didn't have such an excellent sense of smell. He sidled further along the stall and peered at a bouquet of roses, then stuck his nose close to them, savoring the smell that blocked out the scent of the unkempt man that had just walked by. He could hear Atta's quiet laughter from the other side of the stall, which he rightly ignored.

[Evora]

Evora returned to the city late the afternoon, tired from a fruitless day spent in hunting in the forest. As she stalked through the city her eyes caught the flower stall. She was reminded of why she found the forest so beautiful, with it's different flowers, rich colours and smells. She suddenly didn't feel so bad having not made a kill that day and a faint smile traced her tired face.

Something else caught her eye however at the flower stall. A tall and strong built man stood with his nose buried deep in the flowers. Evora was suddenly transported back to that day in the forest. She was shooting the great bear who was suddenly a stumbling man. She was pulling her arrow form his arm and then he was thanking her. She found herself starting towards the flower stand. She started to examine a beautiful white flower. She traced its beautiful petals and breathed its fragrance in deeply. All the while wondering if she sound say something. She was sure the man would never want to see her again. But she had never learnt his name. She was eternally grateful he hadn't died in the forest from infection. Before she could stop herself she was talking.

"Does it still hurt? You look much better," she didn't look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the white flower. She immediately regretted talking to him. The guilt burnt within her stomach and she suddenly felt sick.

[Bartal]

He smelled her before he saw her. Bartal would never forget the scent of that woman. The one who'd put a blasted hole in his arm. He stood stiffly as she stopped next to him, staring at her out of the corner of his eye. Her fingers fondled the petals of a beautiful white flower. When she spoke, the emotion was so evident in her voice that for a moment he felt like he'd been struck. Bartal had spent the days since being shot loathing her; hating her. But suddenly, he couldn't find the energy to justify those emotions. The wound hadn't infected. He'd had worse, and there was no longer pain unless he moved his arm just right. It was like he'd been deflated. The tense set of his muscles melted away, and he actually turned to her. "It only hurts under certain circumstances. I'm fine, this is nothing." Then more quietly he added, "Thank you for asking." The words tasted bad in his mouth, but neverthless he said them. Absently he covered the spot where the arrow had pierced his arm, rubbing it gingerly. "Have you been... well?" The offer of further conversation was a weak one, but it was there. He may not be able to find the energy to dislike her, but he didn't exactly like her despite that. It was more of a tolerance at the moment.