Knowing that any further delays would only serve to make the trip that much worse, Kre lifted a water pitcher from the table, poured some into his free hand, and swiped it through his face and hair a few times. He switched hands and continued his paltry efforts at a morning wash.
Spotting the dried blood on his knuckles, he was reminded of Jem’s gentle ministrations to his wounds and he quickly checked his pockets for the makeshift bandage. Finding something, he pulled what used to be a piece of a cotton dress out and tried to figure out how it got so crusted and grimy in a single night. He poured the last of the water over it and tried to clean it out as best he could. He set it out on the table to dry a bit while he started pulling off the clothes he had been wearing for the last day.
With one last look of appreciation at the finery next to him, he sighed and started pulling the new clothes on. As he started looping the belt through the trousers, he took one last look around the Lodge. The room itself was quite plain, as far as decorations and design went, but the memories he held of this place were splashing themselves across his entire vision as he scanned around.
In his mind, there were musicians near the fireplace playing their jaunty tunes. Troubadours that had visited Mintas over the years were fading in and out with one exception, Jem, who stayed centermost in Kre’s mind’s eye playing her never-ending song.
Looking over the tables, Kre could see the evening meals from his many years living here and smiled at the thought of all his friends and acquaintances gathered around the tables of his recollections. The smells and tastes of the specialties of the townsfolk were almost enough to make his mouth water despite his having eaten at least two meals worth of breakfast.
Having tightened the belt satisfactorily and having already tugged on it a couple of times to ensure the fit, Kre briefly wondered what else he could do to delay his departure any more. Not finding an answer, he shrugged and tucked the supple leather gloves into the belt and stepped back from the table.
“You’re dressed for a celebration, but you look like you’re going to a funeral.” Syonette stepped down out of the stairwell and flashed a soft, sad smile.
Clearly surprised, Kre clapped a hand to his face to cover his blush and swore softly to himself. “Damnation Sy, how long were you hiding out there?”
Sy sauntered over and laughed sharply, “Don’t worry sheep-boy, I waited until you were done getting dressed before I peeked. I pretty much only saw you spend the last five minutes day dreaming as you looked around the room.”
“Good,” he muttered in response, happier knowing that Sy hadn’t seen him changing clothes or was at least lying about it sufficiently. “And I wasn’t day dreaming, I was just remembering.”
She shrugged in response, “Same difference. Waste of time either way.” She reached a hand out for the still damp cloth sitting on the table, “What’s this then?”
Kre slapped a hand down on top of the former bandage. “Nothing, just… nothing.” His movement became gentler as he picked it up in a wad and shoved it into the pocket of his new pants.
“Whatever,” she shrugged again. “Anyway, I’m just here to say goodbye.” She looked away quickly, but not before Kre caught a glisten of a tear near her eye. “You know I hate public events, and your departure seems to be on the level of a grand procession, so I’m certainly not going to be out there waving my little ribbon for you along with everyone else.” She gestured to his pocket to indicate the piece of cloth in a not-so-subtle attempt to poke at him.
“My mom and sister will probably be out there though. Mom baked a chicken for you, but I wouldn’t eat it if I were you. I’m fairly certain she undercooked it.”
Kre nodded, understanding fully. Sy’s mom was one of the hardest workers he knew, and she didn’t shy away from any kind of work, no matter how filthy or demeaning it might seem. But she was a horrible cook.
The first few times Mrs. Embrai made something to bring to the evening meal, people had gotten violently ill after partaking in her dish. Shortly thereafter, she was asked to help only with meals that did not require actual cooking, like slicing apples or cheeses, or filling water pitchers. She knew why as she wasn’t stupid or clueless, but she took it completely in stride and appreciated the inclusion nonetheless. Still, she loved the idea of cooking and baking and still made attempts to better herself at those skills though she never brought those dishes to be served to an audience greater than her daughters and their closest friends, like Kre.