A Whisper of a Memory

[Iome]

The horse galloped through the snow, kicking fine powder from its hooves to dust the hem of her cloak in shimmering white that gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The hood of said cloak had fallen back to reveal a stream of unbound hair, drifting like a golden banner on the chilled breeze. Just a few measures from the building, she reined the animal in, bringing the mare to an abrupt stop.

The horse nickered and pawed at the snow, unhappy with such hindrance of her freedom. The woman smirked and patted the side of the mare's neck, murmuring a few words of reassurance. They would be back on the road soon enough. Ygara was expecting the bundles that she had strapped to the saddle of her horse. Yet, despite the duty the awaited the woman, she felt herself pulled to this place, as if there was a rope tugging her in this direction.

Her breath escaped her lips as a puff of frost as she sat up in the saddle and looked the building over, desperately searching for anything that would explain why she kept coming back here. Every time Ygara sent her out on an errand, she came by this way even if it added half a day onto her trip. She would always stop at this very point, somewhat distant enough from the tavern that she would not be spotted, but close enough so that she could inspect it carefully, searching for some clue, some hint as to why she could not stay away.

Even looking upon the building seem to whisper to her, in those dark holes inside her head where memories had once resided but now existed only emptiness. Something sparked in that vast chasm and for a moment, she almost felt as if what she was searching for was right there within her grasp. If she only reached out and closed her hand around it, she would remember everything.

But she either wasn't fast enough or else those moments of near-remembrance too fleeting to ever be caught. Once again, she was left there, frustrated and angry. Ygara told her to be patient, to have faith that what she had lost would be restored, but it was all happening too slow for her tastes. So much time had passed... her scars had gone from the inflamed red hue to pale pink. She could use her arm again, though it would never be as it was. Her body had healed, but her mind? It still remained an open aching wound.

That pain had been unnoticed at first. She could remember nothing before opening her eyes to Ygara's sun-browned face, taut with strain as the healer tried to staunch her bleeding limbs. Excrutiating agony bore her into a world that was so unfamiliar, so terrifying. The first month had been nothing but darkness broken up by moments of pain. The second had seen her more wakeful, but no lessening of pain. Gradually, physical hurt lessened, but brought with it a pain even more profound than her ruined left hand or the deep scars the marred a face that had once been beautiful.

She remembered nothing, not even her name. Ygara called her Aquielle, the most elven name she could think of. It seemed to fit. She had small habits that she could not explain. The way she cased a building before entering. The way she could wield a bow and shoot a rabbit at quite a removed distance, even with her damaged hand. The way she would suddenly mutter the right combination of herbs used to treat a specific ailment. Yet, none of those small things could provide the correct key to the mystery that was her identity.

She gazed upon the building for a few more moments, silently begging for something, anything. Yet, as usual, nothing came. Just a wisp of a hint of a memory. That was all. It never explained anything to her, only reminded her of that part she lacked. She lifted lightly kicked the horse into a gallop and made for Ygara's small house. Maybe one day, she would understand. One day, she would re-discover who she was and why this place called to her.

Until that day, she was Aquielle, healer's assistant, and there was still a quarter day's ride until she was home.