Return to Sender

Return To Sender

The familiar glow over the postbox caused Balth's heart to leap and his pace to quicken, despite his head's reassurances that the only thing waiting for him would be the proceeds from yesterday's auctions, just like every other day. Maybe it wouldn't be. It didn't have to be.

He'd promised to give her space, as much as she needed. He was smart -- and as always, conservative, and he was slowly learning to be sensitive, or so he hoped. He knew the offer appeared generous, even as he secretly sat smug in the knowledge that her absence would bother him none. She was the one who needed him, after all.

Idiot. He'd had waited two weeks before writing to her, enclosing a token, still feeling foolish as he did so -- what, he couldn't go a fortnight without a woman, and one particular woman at that? He, who'd barely given a care to anyone's coming or going before? But absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say, and it had only been a day before he found himself missing the sweet scent of her hair and the lilt of her laughter. The two weeks before he broke down and put pen to paper had been increasingly torturous... and the weeks since only more so. He'd forbidden himself to write again, but with each passing day he wondered anew whether that was the right decision.

The last time Balth was tempted to write, he sought out friends and asked their advice instead. It was too soon for a ring, they agreed. Try a pet. And so a little cat roamed his rented loft now, likewise awaiting his lady's return -- a kitten, small and tan and brown, still nameless, demanding and adorable, confusing to a man who'd never cared for any such thing before, and a strange reassurance in the moments when he would start to worry. The kitten gave him new worries, however, such as whether it was an appropriate offering to a woman with a child -- what if it stole the baby's breath? Old wives' tales, his friends reassured him. He hoped so; he cared for the child, too, though it was not his own... and although he would not assume nor demand a right that wasn't his, and had never considered parenthood before, the fact remained that the child needed a father -- and to his own bewilderment Balth found himself frequently and seriously considering the merits of the occupation. If the mother allowed it, of course. Only if she wanted it. If she wanted...

Balth drew out the letters one by one. Auction house, auction house, bill, thank you card, trainer advertisement... was that all? He rooted around with his hand once more, and his grasping fingers closed on a package in rough paper, bound with twine. A chill ran through him then, despite the glorious sun shining bright over Silvermoon and bearing down warm upon him. Maybe it wouldn't be. It didn't have to be, he told himself, as he slowly pulled back the hand with the package.

But he knew the moment he saw it -- the moment before he saw it. He knew the words on the letter inside by heart. He knew that if he cut the twine and tore the brown paper the magical rose carefully wrapped in tissue inside the box would still be dewy and fresh, and smell like her hair. And he knew that if he stared at it any longer, rain might begin to fall from the clear Silvermoon sky to blot out his own neat printing on the coarse wrapping.

He thought for a moment about throwing it away, but instead he stuffed it under his other correspondence and slowly began to walk back home. The kitten will be glad to see me, he thought. I think I shall name her Aralie.