Page 112 of Beyond the Shadowed Earth

This morning, clouds were gathering fast, and the sharp wind carried with it the promise of snow. She would have to climb back down before the weather hit in earnest, but she had a few minutes more of peace. Perhaps today was the day she would finally take the path to the village in the valley below the monastery, finally go and see Morin again, make her peace with him. She couldn’t deny he was part of the reason she’d chosen to settle here, a permanent pilgrim in Tal-Arohnd, weeding in the garden or gathering eggs, not speaking a word for weeks together if she didn’t wish to.

Life in the monastery suited her, and it was easier being close to Tuer’s Mountain, in case she was ever called upon to return. She was safe here, too. Secluded from most of the world, where she need not touch or be touched, where there was no danger of the sorrow inside of her killing anyone.

Two winters had spun away since she’d come back here, begging sanctuary from Torane. Two springs, two summers, too. Tainir had climbed up to see her several times since her return.

But not Morin. Never Morin.

She wanted to go down to him, wanted to accept the offer he’d made her so long ago. But there was so much grief burning up her soul, she didn’t know if there was room for anything else.

The wind bit colder, and the first few flakes of snow fell wet against her cheek. She turned her back to the staggering drop and began to inch her way down the cliff. She climbed slowly, the wind tugging at her body, the snow coming thick.

By the time she’d made it to level ground again, a thin layer of white already blanketed everything.

A path lay at her feet: to her left was the way back to the monastery, to her right, the road down to the village. She stood a moment, considering. She thought of the mug of tea she would brew as soon as she reached her tiny stone room, which she’d attempted to make more homey by plastering Morin’s map on the wall and stringing beads on bright yarn from one corner of the room to the other. She thought of Morin and Tainir’s little house, with the goats bleating in the pen just outside, and Tainir hanging a kettle over the fire.

Eda had healed, slowly, these last long months, but she was still uncertain of her steps. And though Niren came to talk with her often, even her sister could not ease her loneliness completely.

She looked up the path, and down the path: one way, a comfortable solitude. And the other?

She drew a slow breath, hugging her poncho around her in the thickly falling snow. She didn’t know, but she was ready to find out. She was ready to see if there was anything for her in Endahr beyond the sorrow that ate at her and was never full.

She took the downward path.

The snow fell, and the wind bit, but there was a fire burning in Morin and Tainir’s hearth. When Eda stepped in through the door, tea was ready and waiting. Morin looked up at her with a swift, fierce smile. She went to join him by the fire.