roina_arwen

Author’s Note: Please read entry 18a, “Swim Until You Can’t See Land” first. You can find it here: https://roina-arwen.dreamwidth.org/8266.html
=#=#=#=#=

Darya knelt at the edge of the forest, nervously folding and unfolding her tear-dampened handkerchief while she waited for the first light of dawn. Before her, the Sacred Sea glinted silver in the bright moonlight. The weather predictions had been correct - the sky was cloudless, and perfect for her needs.

On the ground next to Darya lay a sharp pair of shears. She toyed with the end of her long, blonde braid as she thought through her actions and expectations. She loved Pyotr more than life itself, but his heart had been broken too many times.

Her greatest desire was to help piece his fragile heart back together, to make him capable of loving her fully.

That thought was all Darya needed to spur her to pick up the shears and cut a long ribbon from the colorfully dyed handkerchief. She blotted her tears one last time, stood, and tied the ribbon to the branch of a larch tree near the shore of the lake.
( Read more... )

Ellie lounged on the couch, her back bolstered by the padded armrest. She peeled back the Velcro bands from her AirCast and removed the confining brace from her foot with a happy sigh. Gingerly, she slowly wiggled her toes then dutifully propped her ankle on a small pile of pillows to keep it elevated.

Her ankle was finally enjoying a bit of freedom after almost a week wrapped in compression bandages.

Ellie had partially torn several ligaments in her ankle while she and her husband Jon were on their anniversary vacation in Vanuatu. Her injury had forced them to cut their Survivor-esque time on the island short. The tribe hadn’t spoken, and Jeff Probst was nowhere in sight, but the island had chosen to eliminate her anyway.

Jon had been amazingly brilliant at fashioning a travois for her from available materials, and the addition of their sturdy fishing net made it almost comfortable to be dragged on for nearly three miles back to the small airstrip. Almost.

Ellie refocused her attention on her laptop, and was fashioning a reply to her co-worker’s email when she heard the low rumble of the garage door opening, then closing again a few minutes later. Jon was home.

Jon came upstairs from the garage level and draped his lab coat over the railing. His smile always brightened her day.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

She replied as expected. “What’s the gist, pharmacist?”

It was an old joke that they shared, partially stolen from one of their favorite geeky TV shows. She was a floral designer in a local florist shop, and he - obviously - was a pharmacist.

“How was work?” Ellie asked, as he gently sat on the far end of the couch, being careful not to bump her foot.

Jon shrugged and unknotted his tie. “Not too bad. I helped a customer avoid a potentially nasty drug interaction, so that was my big accomplishment of the day. Any updates from the doctor?”

She shook her head. “No, but my follow up appointment isn’t until next Thursday, so I guess I’ll be wearing the brace at least until then, and using the crutches as needed.”

“Don’t overdo it,” he advised, eying her foot carefully for any unexplained swelling or bruises. After a few sedentary minutes, he rose from the couch and stretched.

“How does a grilled ham & cheese sandwich sound for dinner?”

Ellie beamed. “Split a can of tomato soup with me, and it’s a deal.”

Jon bent over and planted a kiss on his favorite florist. “I love you.”

“You’d better, if you know what’s good for you,” Ellie replied with a wink.

Jon laughed, pushed his glasses back into place, and went to make dinner.

Love was the best medicine.