The dirt path beneath my feet crunches under the soles of my boots. I do not hear it.
The setting sun glows brightly in the west. I do not see it.
The autumn breeze laps gently against my skin. I do not feel it.
I approach the Fisherman’s Lagoon with the steady rhythm of an automaton, though I do not desire to fish.
It isn’t always like this, you know, and at this point I’m not even sure if anyone has noticed. Dirt gives way to old, worn wood. My legs automatically carry me up the stairs. Muscle memory I suppose. I do come here a lot, after all. It’s also muscle memory that keeps me from walking right off the end of the pier. A pink sky casts the distant mountains into stark shadow, their imposing silhouettes reflecting against the placid, mirror-like lake. I need to sit down. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. I don’t know where I’ve been walking, and my mind is a raging tempest of troubles. I need to sit down. The wood is still warm from the rays of the sun. I am unsure if I feel it. My gaze is drawn to the ever-darkening expanse of water below me. As it fills my vision, it seems endlessly vast and endlessly deep, a cosmos unto itself, and an unfathomable abyss that threatens to envelop me in its expansiveness.
All things considered, that doesn’t seem like a bad prospect right now.
Unconsciously, I begin to lean over the side of the pier. The water is beginning to swallow me whole. Eventually, gravity begins to supplant my body’s desire for oblivion. I was falling, until I wasn’t, because there was one more thing I had failed to see.
“I would advise you to mind the edge of the pier.” A deep, modulated voice rings out from the void.
My senses return to me at once. I notice now that the sunset’s pink has faded into the bright moonlit sky. I can smell the scent of fish and pond scum rising from the lagoon. But most importantly I feel an enormous artificial hand supporting my torso and gently repositioning me back onto the edge of the pier.“Oh.” I respond. I’m at a loss for words, it’s still difficult to process everything that just happened, and everything that was returning. It’s like waking up from a dream. More like a nightmare, really, but that’s beside the point.
“Hello, Einar.” I greet, struggling to form a complete sentence. The Galdur looks at me quizzically, which probably means he’s more perplexed by my behavior than usual.
“You do not normally make a habit of falling into the lagoon.” he observes, astutely.
“Yeah.” I respond, what else can I really say?
“Then I see Hekla’s observation was correct. Are you unwell?” he asks, his head tilting in thought.
“What, no! I’m fine, I swear…I just, well…” “You were observed wandering through the ruins slower than usual.” “Einar…” “You did not make your daily rounds into town either, and spoke to no one either, according to Hekla” “Well…” I take a deep, deep breath.“I guess…I was just thinking about how I got here, and what will happen if it happens again.”
The Galdur looks at me with a quizzical expression, seemingly failing to process exactly what I mean. “I would ask you to clarify your statement”, he finally responds.
“You know I don’t remember anything from before I came out of the Phoenix Shrine, if there's even anything for me to remember... What if…” My voice trembles, lowering into a quiet, terrified whisper. “What if it happens again?”
“I cannot calculate the probability of such an event.” An attempt at reassurance, maybe? I don’t know, this idea just won’t leave my head. It’s driving me insane!
“Yeah, but what if it does?” My tempo quickens, “I just…I just feel like…like….I’ve forgotten something really important…and…AND” I take a deep breath “and I don’t want to forget anything else important again, I don’t want to forget anyone important again either! I just….AUGH….”
I bury my hands in my palms and take a deep breath. The sound of evening crickets over the fishing lagoon were all that could be heard for a good 5 minutes, though it felt like an eternity. Finally the Galdur speaks.
“Should this scenario come to pass, you will be pleased to learn that I am incapable of forgetting.”
“Einar…I…” I’m speechless, legitimately speechless. I clamber to my feet, and tug the hem of my shirt to adjust it to a more comfortable position.
“I forgot to water my crops today. Thanks for letting me face-flap at you.” are the only words that can leave my mouth in a sensible fashion before I start running like a wanted criminal back to my plot. The Galdur is left in a cloud of dust with a bewildered expression on his face.
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