Avery glided softly through the mist, sighing every now and then and focusing on nothing in particular. Her departure had caused her mild grief. Now she had sand in her shoes and a fluttering heart, constant concern for the only men in her life that she had left still with shock and surprised like the coloured portraits hanging around them, and she wondered if she had been a little wild.
Could her exit be considered wild? Certainly, she had been thinking about it for some time. When she served out that over-sized plate of grapes, for instance. And, similarly, when Second had dropped his soggy handkerchief in her entrance leaving a wet patch that he slid in, just a little but enough to smear, causing Watt to step in it also, all while he infuriatingly waved away her concerns about his overall, obviously ailing, health.
This memory made her quiver with slivers of contempt. The problem with Avery was her inability to work up an appropriate level of anger so people would take her seriously. She simply did not have the energy.
She realised this as her foot hit something hard yielding and she cried out, looking down to see a figure hunched up on the sand.
"Oh!" the figure exclaimed and leapt up.
"Goodness!" Avery stepped back instinctively, "You were very far down."
"Yes, I was," Quintus agreed, rubbing his bottom and squinting at her.
"Could you see far?" she asked, wanting to get the scope of his vision.
"I could not," he answered honestly. "The fog is too thick."
"Oh, of course," her mind wandered once again as her disinterest took over.
They both stood and stared at the fog, avoiding each other, and then Quintus said in a rush: "Sorry, is that- is that why you kicked me? Because of the fog density?"
Avery swayed gently to a silent tune. She said: "I walked out on all the people I love" in a whispery voice.
Quintus leaned in closer so the whispers would swim into his ears. "I did, too."
Avery nodded. "My husband, Brunei, works down at the gates. His work keeps him long hours and his friends visit often. His two friends... they love him."
Quintus watched strands of her hair fly in her face and marveled at her lack of concern. He wondered if she was one of those people who were carved out of stone, set, and then animated using goat fur, honey and candle wax. "What gates were these, do tell?" he asked instead, because this town had taught him caution in conversation and seven different ways to weave a basket.
"The Peyying Gates," she recited proudly, a faint smile lighting up her dull eyes.
Quintus thought about all the gates he knew and realised that they were all made out of wood and housed animals. He felt on edge.
"Oh, Peyying," he remarked as casually as he could. "Are they south of the farm?"
"They say he does not work hard enough," Avery said loudly and Quintus jumped. "They say, the workers at the gates are not- your hat looks very peculiar," she interrupted herself. She was peering at him in that intrusive way people do when they're trying not to insult someone about a malfunction of their appearance.
"It's hand-made!" said Quintus defensively. "Made entirely by hand!"
"By your hand..." Avery whispered, neither impressed nor ready to give a compliment, and Quintus felt the fondness he had developed for this vague woman disappear almost completely. She said: "It looks like a baby bottom" and turned to the sea in an effective conversation-ending gesture.
"This hat has silk!" he declared.
"It also has bells," she replied dismissively. "Loud, cantankerous, soul-ripping, soul-crippling, soul-squenching bells..."
"'Soul-squenching'?" Quintus echoed, uncertain.
Avery nodded at the sea.
"Soriary was wrapped up tight in a ball of self-destruction and there was no way to pierce the outer layer," Quintus said. "I could not. I was a coward! I made myself flee as if I, myself, had witnessed the brutalities of war..." his voice caught in his throat and he looked away, afraid he would choke or sob or vomit.
Avery swayed, seemingly lost in thought.
"There was nothing you could do," she said after a while, in a soft yet practical motherly way, and a weight Quintus did not know he was carrying instantly fell from his hunched up shoulders. She said: "Some people are a war themselves and they must learn to wield their own sword, or fall heavily upon it."
"Yes!" Quintus heaved, even though he didn't believe that her analogy applied to the beautifully worn flower that was Soriary. He did his best to blink back tears. He wiped his nose on his tunic sleeve. He smiled gingerly at the ocean but the ocean did not smile back. Probably because there was too much fog in the way. Or probably not.
"My departure was very sudden. It caused a slight disturbance, but I have not been back to see," Avery closed her eyes.
"It might be for the best," Quintus said without consideration, as he did have a lot of practice at departing and none in tact.
"Would you think so?"
"I fear-"
"Yes," Avery cut in, "Your fear. It is rather unbecoming."
Quintus frowned. "What is?"
"All this fear..." and her voice was lost and so far away that Quintus leaned in further, a tad annoyed now that she couldn't keep proper volume.
"I believe fea-" he started but Avery interrupted again with a soft sigh: "Of course you would. But look at that," she pointed ahead to where there seemed to be mountain tips growing out of the thick, fluffy fog.
"The confusing peaks." Avery breathed, almost in hushed awe.
"Yes..." said Quintus, dragging his uncertainty back to the front-line of his current emotional state, trampling over confusion and exhaustion and the need to urinate.
"They think he works up there. They do not listen, therefore misunderstand almost everything Brunei says." Avery blinked her sad eyes and Quintus felt something sharpen in his chest. "But fear..." she went on, "...fear can take us places. There are great places and I think..." she stepped forward.
Quintus jolted, "Are- are you-?"
"... I think we should walk right up to fear." Avery took another step and Quintus felt such a sudden rush of loneliness that he lunged forwards as well.
"Yes..." Avery whispered, staring out at the rising peaks with an expression of something like excitement mixed with horror that surrounded a hint of a smile.
"...let us see where fear will take us."
