The Wisterian

Chapter 35: Homecoming

The fog grows thick and disorienting. Rowan West hurries her step to overtake the pirates, not slowing a wit as their outraged shouts echo behind her. The outline of the cabin, barely visible in the distance, greets her as she bursts forth from the mist and into the outskirts of her humble hometown of Dirt.

In what used to be the market.

A bone-cold chill of winter air slices through her salt-tinged summer clothes as she examines the ruins. The stalls collapsed, empty of wares and vendors, and silent as death. Ruined.

The usual aroma of baking pies, tanning furs, and musty books replaced with the stench of rotting fruit and coppery blood. Viscous goo coats the frozen ground, dotted with fur, pine needles, and chunks of moss.

A trail of crimson droplets leads her away from the market. Rowan follows the carnage past the mills, to the empty granary, and on to the row of trees blocking her path to artisan alley. She holds her nose as she gingerly steps over the bodies of creatures and vendors alike.

What happened here?

An impenetrable wall stretches thick with vines and thorns far into the eastern woods and joins the high walls of the castle gardens, blocking the way back to her princess. Rowan turns around, dejected, hand passing over her weary features as she considers the options. Should she hack her way through? Could she hop the wall near the wisteria tree?

But no, Reed will never forgive her if she doesn't check in first. Learned that the hard way last time.

She heads south, to the fog, to the cabin at the edge of the woods. Her heart flutters and then stills as she approaches. The air rushes out of her lungs, along with all conviction to continue.

Branches from neighboring trees wrench through the eaves, weaving in and out of the roof. The rest covered in a thick carpet of twisting flowering vines. It stands dark, empty, consumed by the woods. Abandoned. How long, exactly, was she gone for?

Terror grips Rowan, it- it couldn't have been years.

She collapses, exhausted. Eyes closed, and head bowed as her knees kiss the frost covered ground, toes and heart completely numb. Her breath comes as puffs of cold fog, lingering quietly before rising as offerings to the sky.

Where is everyone?

A hand lay lightly on her shoulder. She opens her eyes, following the swirls and flourishes circling a hand she knows all too well.

"Briar." A whisper, a fervent plea, a prayer.

The woman moves in front of Rowan. She looks different. Stronger. Rowan recognizes the old pair of breeches and tunic Briar wears as her own. Though, the finely tooled vest and spiked boots are most certainly new. Her skin appears darker as if she spent the past few weeks in the sun. She's a dream. Gorgeous.

Rowan cracks an exhausted smile. "Nice boots."

"You too."

"You're here." She reaches out to stroke her cheek. "You're safe. I was so worried."

The magic snapping along Briar's fingers sputters and dies as their hands link, the tension in her shoulders draining as quickly as the magic. Briar snuggles deeper, rubbing gentle, soothing circles between Rowan's shoulder blades.

Tracing sweet nothings along the new tattoos over Briar's wrist, she can't help the laugh that escapes her lips. She laughs until tears streak across her salted skin. She made it.

She's home.

Briar drops to her knees, resting her forehead against Rowan's.

Rowan basks in her love's perfume, floral as always, but with hints of ripe peaches and apples, inexplicably like sunshine on this frigid winter day.