(no subject)

She leaves the bar, because it is all that she can do without screaming or crying again, and she's wept enough tears for one evening, say true. She goes back to her room, there to sit by the window and stare out into the darkness.

(my first thought was he lied in every word)

He had lied to her, oh aye, and she had known it at the time. Are thee well, Roland? Truly well? -- I'm never not. Even so, it's not that which troubles her most -- Susan Delgado is wise enough to know by now that some things must be said for politeness's sake, no matter what the heart of the matter may be, and she'd been prepared to do whatever she could to aid him, still.

(I'll help, when the time comes. I promise.)

But for him to have left so -- to have walked out into the Ninth Precinct of Death, as the hateful cat-man had said -- and willingly, now, it seems, and without even so much as a word to Alain or to her--

(ye will leave me again, won't ye?)

--it's cruel, she thinks, bitterly cruel, and what have any of them done to deserve such hurt? Not that he would leave-- for he will, and has already, and will again, and well she knows it-- but that he would leave so, without a look or a word, as they sat by worried and afraid for him? How could he do this to them, so casually?

(I've done things in the name of the Tower - I'm not the boy thee knew, Susan. I am an old man, and I am damned.)

She does not sleep. Eventually, in the dim grey light before dawn, Susan changes swiftly into riding gear and goes out to Kiseki. Riding will help, mayhap, to clear her mind of this confusion and let her finish coming to terms with this.

(no subject)

As the first light of dawn filters across the sky, Susan is already out and riding, heading away from the bar. At her urging, Kiseki races past the lake and across a field beyond-- and then the two of them veer onto an unknown forest path, although at a more reasonable pace, say true.

Hours later, the branches along another path are brushed aside as they return. The bay gelding is tired, but not winded, and Susan murmurs softly as she eases him back from a trot to a walk, then dismounts, leading him to the greenhouse-- and then she stops, staring.

The sounds of construction are gone, and the stable stands newly-completed before her wide eyes. And oh, her smile is sudden and bright, now, as she leads Kiseki into the new stable, and sets about caring for him there.

Back and forth she goes over the rest of the afternoon, and soon Melina is settled in the new building as well, and all of the equipment stored away proper, as suits Pat Delgado's daughter.

Tired, but pleased, Susan surveys the stable -- and then finally turns and goes back into the bar.