Solace

by Ellen Caldera

This is a sequel to my story "In the Valley of the Shadow"

Daniel Jackson, Personal Journal Entry
Freyholm, Day 3

There's a problem with dates and travelling through the Stargate to other worlds. It's such-and-such time and date when we leave Earth, but at our destination, it may be a different time of day, a completely different season, the days may be longer or shorter. You just never know what you're going to get. It's worse than flying halfway around the world. Stay in a place long enough, and you end up with 'Gatelag when you finally go back to Earth. So for the purposes of my stay on Freyholm, I'll just use day numbers, Freyholm days that is, equivalent to 29.32 standard Earth hours to be exact, or so my chronometer tells me.

It's been three days, Freyholm time, since we arrived here, three days since I was stabbed by one of the indigenous people, furry brown critters called the T'loknae. Not exactly what you'd call a welcome wagon. Apparently, the T'loknae have a deal with the Tok'Ra resistance to guard the local 'Gate in case any non-Tok'Ra Goa'uld decide they need a mountain vacation. Wouldn't it just figure that the first T'lokna I encountered would be a little overzealous.

The knife was poisoned, very nasty poison (what other kind is there?), and it almost killed me. Well, to be strictly factual, it did kill me. Jack didn't want to tell me, but when I asked him how I ended up with a cracked rib on the opposite side of my chest from where I'd been wounded, he somewhat sheepishly admitted to having done that himself.

They thought I was finally out of the woods after the Tok'Ra healer Trieste worked her "magic" on me, but then I crashed in a big way. They had to resuscitate me and, well, Jack got a little carried away with the chest compressions. In a case like that, better to try too hard than not enough, that's for sure. Of course, he had to make a wisecrack about me missing out on the way Carter was going to town on the mouth-to-mouth and he was glad she was there to handle that end of it because he's fond of me, but not that fond of me. Typical. He's lucky Sam didn't knock him flat on his ass, but I guess we all understood that he was being tackier than usual simply because he was relieved and more than a bit tired. I don't think I've ever seen him quite so tired.

In any event, I'm probably a couple of weeks away from being ready to go back on active duty, so I plea bargained with Jack to let me stay here. If I went back to Earth, I'd just be sitting in the infirmary or alone in my apartment, not much use to anyone. I can barely stand on my own two feet without getting dizzy at this point. It's enough of an effort just to write this, but at least it keeps me occupied while I'm stuck in bed but no longer tired enough to sleep.

If I'd gone back to Earth, I suppose I could've gotten caught up on mission reports or some other research, but once Sam mentioned the library here in Freyholm, I knew I had to stay. Jack, of course, grumbled something about dusty old books and not whining to him if the natives used tree bark for kleenex, but he finally agreed to let me stay here if I sent daily reports back through the Stargate. Since the Stargate here runs on solar power and can only be activated once a day (not very convenient for stabbing victims), I got him to change that to every other day. I didn't want to feel like I was monopolizing the local 'Gate, even though the natives never use it themselves. I guess I'm hoping one of the Tok'Ra will put in an appearance as they are said to do from time to time. Maybe I'll even have the opportunity to meet Trieste herself, thank her for what she did for me.

At the moment, Trieste has gone back on her round of the local villages, but I really do hope she makes her way back here before I have to go back to Earth. I have quite a few questions to ask her about the "Goa'uld answer to leeches," as Jack called the creature that entered my body and metabolized the poison. Apparently, they're not Goa'uld, but they're similar. I figure I have a right to know about the thing that saved my life. It might have something to do with the being of light I dreamed about when I was unconscious - if it was a dream. I've read enough about near death experiences to wonder, but I'm not sure I'm ready to dig too deeply into my own brush with the eternal just yet.

Sha're was there in the dream or whatever it was. She was so sad and so tired. She looked like she had aged twenty years even though it's hardly been more than one since I saw her last. It may end up actually being that long before I see her again at the rate I'm going. It had to have been a dream, but I'm not entirely certain. I just don't know. It seemed so real.

Jack, Sam and Teal'c hung around just long enough to make sure I really was going to be all right. They went back home yesterday. I still can't believe Jack agreed to let me stay here without putting up much of a fight. I guess I gave them a pretty bad scare. Maybe I should just try dying every time I want something from him. Then again, maybe not. I seem to get myself into enough trouble as it is. I'm hoping for a nice, quiet recuperation.

So here I am, still in bed. The only people I've met so far are a young woman named Brecca, who seems to have appointed herself my guardian angel, and her mother and grandmother. Grandma is, for the most part, a quiet and reserved woman, never saying more than about ten words at a time. Not to me, at least, and not to Brecca as far as I can tell. She's like a nonstop running faucet when it comes to Brecca's mother, though. I hope I'm never on the receiving end of that since the water seems to be mostly scalding hot.

Brecca's mother mostly just glares at me on those rare occasions when she deigns to grace me with her presence. I don't think she cares for me being here, but it seems like Grandma makes the house rules. This might be a matriarchy of some sort, although it's hard to tell when I've only seen the domestic end of things, and from the confines of a sickbed at that. I'm fairly itching to get out and see more of this place, but I suppose I'll have to wait until "Doctor" Brecca gives the go-ahead. I'm not really sure, to tell the truth, if she is a doctor or healer or whatever they call them around here, but she seems to be in charge of my care for the time being.

Freyholm, Day 4, Late Afternoon

I never really thought of myself as being a prude, but I guess maybe I am a little bit. Or maybe just shy. Or easily embarrassed. Probably all three. I could blame it on the way I was raised, but damn it, an archeologist should be able to set aside his own cultural hang-ups and approach a foreign society with an open mind. I don't know why I'm having so much trouble with that here, unless it's because I wasn't exactly an invited guest. Not being at a hundred percent physically is a decided disadvantage as well.

I also seem to have acquired a knack for sticking my foot in my mouth. Or more likely, I've always had the knack and just seem to be employing it more than usual lately. When Brecca came in to check on me this morning, I asked her why she didn't braid her hair. A silly question, really, but she's got quite a head of long, thick auburn hair that she's constantly pushing out of the way or draping over her shoulder. Her mother and her grandmother both wear their hair pulled back in some fashion, and I suppose I was just curious as to why she didn't do the same, at least while she's working. I thought it was an innocent enough question, but the look she gave me sent chills up my spine.

It turns out the women of Freyholm mourn their dead either by cutting their hair or wearing it unbound for a year. Her husband Toras was killed nearly a year ago in a hunting accident, and since Toras always loved her hair, she didn't have the heart to cut if off.

She's so young to have lost a husband. Then again, she doesn't seem to be much younger than me, and I have lost a wife. At least there's still hope I'll see Sha're again this side of the grave, but sometimes it's very hard to hold onto that hope. Sometimes I can't even remember what her face looks like, but other times, I'll recall some moment during our time together on Abydos so clearly I can even smell the fragrance of her hair.

Brecca suggested after lunch that I try to get up and walk around a bit, which went surprisingly better than I expected. The bandages came off this morning and stayed off. The wound is healing amazingly quickly, which Brecca credits to Trieste's mystical Goa'uld leeches. My appetite is not quite back to normal and I still feel a bit light-headed, but at least I'm not staggering around bumping into walls anymore. It hurts to breathe too deeply due to Jack's little faux pas. Too bad he's not around so I could give him grief over it, but he's probably shoveling through that stack of paperwork or maybe even getting a little much-deserved R&R. He certainly gripes enough about never getting a break. How about a broken rib, Jack?

Back to the point - I guess I did well enough with my little excursion around the room that Brecca suggested a walk down to the bathhouse. This was very welcome news. I was beginning to feel like I had a crust about an inch thick covering every part of my body. How is it that you can end up feeling so disgustingly dirty after being sick, even though you've done nothing but lie in bed?

I got a brief tour of Freyholm on the way down. Sam wasn't kidding when she said these people live in harmony with their surroundings. Most of the buildings are either half buried or carefully concealed by groves of pine trees. There's even some buildings up in the trees, although I'm told they're only used in the warmer summer months. Hard to believe it ever gets warm here, but it's late autumn right now, near to the end of harvest time. The valley in which Freyholm is situated is very steep, but they've done wonders with terracing the sides of the valley to make room for crops. There are some domesticated animals, but Brecca told me her people also hunt and gather various roots and berries in the woods. Nature's gifts are cherished, no matter how they are given, she says.

There are definitely hints of Scandinavian origin here. There's a longhouse used for communal meals that's right out of Viking history, and the clothing worn by the people we saw on the way to the bathhouse is certainly reminiscent of ancient Norse attire - tunics, leggings, cloaks, soft leather boots - but dyed in every color of the rainbow. This is where I stuck my foot in my mouth yet again. Having only seen Brecca and her family's rather somber clothing up until this point, I thought maybe there might be a festival of some kind going on and said so. If I'd only taken another second to think, I would've realized that Brecca's black dress is part of her mourning for her husband.

She was tolerant of my stupidity, though, and didn't take offense, although she did ask if my people even mourn their dead. When I explained that we don't really have any official period of mourning after the funeral, she took that to mean we quickly forget our dead. If only that were true. If only I knew for certain, if only I could mourn and somehow learn to forget. Maybe I have been mourning Sha're all along and have just been too stubborn to admit it.

I usually manage to keep her memory safely tucked away in a corner of my mind. It hurts like hell to even think of her, but I wouldn't trade the time I had with her for all the world. Or even for a hundred worlds. I try to go on believing that I'll see her again, but that dream, or hallucination, or whatever it was I had when I was so close to death keeps coming back to me. It's been like an obsession over the past day or so, and any distraction is a blessing if it only keeps me from wondering yet again what it meant. So real, but was it life or death I saw? Does it matter? Is the Sha're I knew and loved dead for all intents and purposes, only a shell remaining, a vessel for a Goa'uld?

But I'm wandering again. My hand is getting tired from all this writing, but it helps to sort it out. To make a long story short, the bathhouse in Freyholm is communal. However conservative the people of this town may be in most of their lives, within the walls of the bath house there are apparently no strictures on things like nudity, and the sexes are not segregated. Brecca just started shucking her clothes like it was the most common thing in the world. I guess it is for her, but I just sat there and stared. And she noticed I was staring. How embarrassing. It's not like she has some kind of irresistibly beautiful body. I guess I'd describe it as "capable" - strong, certainly, from physical labor, with an assortment of scars and bruises; well-proportioned, but certainly not awe-inspiring. I don't know why I stared like that. Just not prepared, I suppose. And she's got a wicked streak in her as well. Her humor can be decidedly barbed. Maybe she thinks I'm fair game now that I'm up and about again. I hardly know her, really, so I can't even begin to guess why she acted the way she did.

She asked me if there was something there I hadn't seen before, and I lamely tried to cover by saying I had been looking at her tattoos. She's got quite a few of them, as did most of the other people in the bathhouse, so it sounded reasonable, but she was definitely on to me. She made quite a show of explaining what each one meant, from the serpent wrapped around her left arm that designates her healing skills, to the fertility rune she got when she came of age. I won't even say where that one was.

I got the feeling she enjoyed watching me squirm, and I'm sure I was blushing up to my ears. She finally had mercy on me, though, and wrapped a bath sheet around herself, but she couldn't resist one last jab by asking me if I'd show her mine. I'm sure the look on my face must've been utterly ridiculous. At least it made her laugh. That's the first time I've heard her laugh - not some high-pitched, annoying laugh, but a deep, hearty laugh, a woman who enjoys humor, even the off-color variety.

I had to let Brecca help me with my shirt since I'm still somewhat sore, but thankfully, she decided I could probably manage the rest myself and went off into the bathing cavern. It was originally a complex of natural, subterranean hot springs, but the main cave was enlarged and part of it sectioned off as a changing room. Brecca explained this to me when I finally gathered up enough courage to make my way into the baths, and I eventually relaxed enough to have an interesting conversation with her and several of the other townspeople present at the time. When in Rome… So also in Freyholm…

They already knew who I was (small towns) and wanted stories, so I told them about several of the planets SG-1 has visited. They were, understandably, particularly interested in Cimmeria and their distant ancestors, the "people of Thor." It hadn't really occurred to me until that moment that Freyholm was certainly named after Freya. Two incredibly divergent cultures from the same source. This would make a fascinating case study, if only I had somewhere to publish it. Maybe one day. Probably long after I'm dead. Posthumous fame. That would be about right for me.

After the bath, I sent my first report back through the 'Gate and got a simultaneous response back from Jack. He just wanted to let me know they were having a great time and wished I were there. The rest of the message let me know that a "great time" consisted of a backlog of research for Sam, new team training for Jack, and teaching Jaffa combat techniques to the new recruits for Teal'c. To each his own. I could get into the research, but the times Teal'c has tried to show me a thing or two, I usually end up with a nice collection of bruises. I'm sure he's supplying Dr. Fraiser with a steady stream of minor injuries.

Freyholm, Day 5

I finally moved to the library this morning, into one of the rooms where the librarians and visiting scholars live. At last! I don't think I could've stood it any longer, knowing that there's a hoard of books nearby and not being able to get my hands on them. Brecca's been cautious, though, and only consented to let me go after I snapped at her that I was feeling just fine. She said that any dog with a bark like that deserved to be kicked out.

I doubt that Brecca's mother shed any tears over my departure, but Grandma gave me a nice enough sendoff with a gift of some clothing because, as she put it, "The clothing you brought with you is fit only for a wood troll." I'm sure Jack would love that assessment. SG-1, trolls on the go, trolling for Goa'uld. At any rate, I feel a bit less conspicuous now, which is good since I'll be going to dinner in the longhouse tonight. Small towns being what they are, I'm sure everyone knows by now that I came through the 'Gate, but if I look like one of them, that should put them at ease. Anthropology 101.

Brecca got me settled into my temporary quarters, then went off to tell Cedric, the head librarian, that I had arrived. It seems nobody is allowed to so much as touch the books until Cedric has given his approval. So close, and yet so far! Fortunately, Brecca returned with him after only a few minutes - an old man with a hawk's nose and gaze to go along with it. He looked me up and down, shook a finger at me and warned me to be careful with the older books, then left. Brecca and I had a good laugh after he was out of earshot, but she also made a rude gesture behind his back. It seems he drafted her to dust and organize the books, which I gather hasn't been done in a long time.

This puzzled me a bit since I assumed her vocation was healing, but she explained that young adults move around quite a bit, helping out where they're needed or have an interest, until they decide on a permanent trade. There are even some who never choose a profession and spend their whole lives in a semi-nomadic existence, living where they're working at the moment, then moving on, sometimes within a town, often from town to town. Brecca and Toras were going to take healer's vows together, but then he was killed. She says she feels uprooted now and doesn't feel like she can settle down again so quickly. It seems we have much more in common than just the loss of a loved one.

Freyholm, Day 6

What a wonderfully exhausting day! This place is like heaven for me, a treasure trove of history and literature. The text is a derivative of Norse runes, but Brecca has been extremely helpful and patient in helping me get a handle on the drift of the language from its ancient roots. The dust is abominable, but they do have handkerchiefs (no tree bark, Jack), and I've got a good supply of antihistamines with me, so I'll survive. It's worth the discomfort, even Brecca's teasing about my bloodshot eyes and runny nose. She doesn't seem fazed by the dust.

Some of the books are simply works of art, hand copied and illustrated and carefully bound into embossed leather covers. There's always a certain pattern of runes on the cover, some of them traditional Norse runes, some derivative runes, fifteen of them in a pyramid shape: Ancestors, Hearth/Home, Family, Labor and Village on the bottom row; Knowledge, Truth, Duty and Promise/Vow on the next row; Wisdom, Justice and Faith on the next; Compassion and Freedom on the next; and Unity at the top. I'll have to remember to ask Brecca about that.

She's a hard one to figure out. She'll be so quiet for very long stretches, dusting away like she's not even paying attention to what she's doing, then she'll stop and bring me a book she thinks I'll find interesting, or she'll mutter something and go off to give a good tongue-lashing to one scholar or another for misfiling or abusing a book. She had it out with a group of mathematicians earlier today when the heaps of books and scraps of papers they had amassed on their worktable finally toppled over. She called them just about every name in the book, ranging from "pigs" to some very rude things I wouldn't care to repeat. They mostly just started at her, but one brave soul threw a book at her. Big mistake. She grabbed him by the back of the shirt and physically threw him out of the library, then promptly reported the incident to Cedric. That particular mathematician hasn't been allowed back in, and the others have more or less behaved themselves for the past few hours.

Every now and then, Brecca will sit down with me and talk about one of the books I've been studying. She obviously reads quite a bit and must've spent a lot of time here as a child. Even gruff old Cedric has the occasional kind word or fond look for her. Other times, though, I'll try to start up a conversation with a comment about some book I'm reading, and she'll just nod absently and keep on dusting. This afternoon, I found her with tears streaming down her face, but she just wiped them away and claimed it was the dust. From time to time, she'll just stop dead in her tracks and stare off into space for a moment or two. Sometimes I feel like she's staring at me, and other times I know she's looking at memories.

There's such sadness there, but she covers it up with smiles. She's kept a certain distance from me, too, ever since that day in the bathhouse, and she's careful to go for her baths at different times from me. She won't sit near me at dinner, and even when she sits down to talk to me in the library, she sits on the other side of the table. I think she regrets being so brash with me, but she won't apologize. That's not her style. She speaks her mind and plows on ahead with no regrets. At least, that's the impression I've formed of her in the few days I've known her. I could be completely wrong. Who knows what she thinks of me.

Freyholm, Day 7

I finally remembered to ask Brecca about the runes on the book covers. It's called "The Unity" after the rune at the top and is a set of values that are considered the foundation of Freyholm culture. When it's written, it's always in a pyramid form representing the place of each value in the system, from the foundations to the ultimate goal. It's also sung on certain festival days, similar to the way Torah is sung. After a little nudging on my part (OK, I maybe I begged, just a little), Brecca demonstrated it for me. She made excuses for her voice since she hasn't sung in a long time, but after a rough start, she surprised me. She has quite a pleasant singing voice, like a more polished version of her speaking voice.

I guess that put her in the mood for singing because she actually got up and sang a song at dinner tonight. Breakfast and midday meals are eaten in the home or workplace, wherever that may be, but in the evening, the entire village gathers in the longhouse. Cooking duties are rotated (they even put me to work peeling carrots this time), but everyone serves themselves and cleans up afterwards. The meal is followed by an hour or two where the villagers mill about and talk or tell stories (they're big on tales and legends) or sing, sometimes a cappella. sometimes with instrumental accompaniment. Spontaneous dancing sometimes breaks out, which I'm careful to steer clear of - still a bit sore and not wanting to trust my feet to keep me from getting knocked around.

Brecca does her share of talking, but she's always left early when there was singing or dancing. Tonight, though, she surprised more than just me by singing a solo with only a single guitar for accompaniment. The shouts and applause were incredible, I think mainly because her people were glad to see her taking part again, but also because the performance was so emotionally charged that even a heart of stone would've been moved. So sad and bitterly poignant, but with hope as an undercurrent. I got her to write the words down for me, which she did somewhat reluctantly, then walked off without saying another word. Grief can only be shared up to a certain point. I let her go.

In spring with all its promise, In light so pure and bright, In a grove all filled with gladness, Did my love and I alight.

We tarried through the summer In fields abloom with stars. We walked by silver rivers, And forever pledged our hearts.

We danced through autumn forests In drifts of fallen leaves. Under skies all filled with starlight Did I find my true heart's ease.

But in winter came the silence And the bitter, frozen fear. In the howling wind of midnight Did I lose my love so dear.

But the world still goes on turning, And the winter turns to spring. The snow will melt and ice will thaw, And I'll learn again to sing.

I've been back on Earth a week now, and I'm still not sure what happened that last night on Freyholm. No. I do know what happened. I'm just not sure why, if why really even matters. Was it courage as we tried to tell ourselves, or just cowardice, plain and simple? Is there any difference? There's a fine line that separates the two, and fear is at the heart of them both. We were both afraid, that's certain, but I'm not entirely sure of what. Maybe of being alone, maybe of not being alone. One thing I do know - it was solace, plain and simple, and I won't regret it. Live from the heart, Daniel. Live from the heart. So she said to me.

But it's really not that simple at all. I need to try and make some sense of it. Maybe writing it down will help.

On the eighth day of my stay there, Trieste returned to Freyholm. I didn't need to be told who she was when she walked into the longhouse at dinner time. Her physical appearance was a dead giveaway, definitely Mediterranean rather than Norse ancestry, but even despite that, I would've known because of the respect and deference everyone showed to her. Not even the members of the Council of Elders received that sort of reverence. I suppose that tends to happen when you're the representative of a race that saved a people's ancestors from someone like the Goa'uld. A long time ago, sure, but that's the stuff of legends, and Trieste was sort of a living legend to them.

Common politeness required that I allow Trieste to sit down and eat, but after the meal was over, I made my way over to her as quickly as possible. Brecca was talking to her and paused to introduce us, as if any introduction were necessary. I tried to thank Trieste for saving my life, but she brushed that off, saying that she doesn't deal in life or death but only helps those who have the will to go on living. I tried to ask her about the creature that healed me, but she seemed reluctant to discuss it and offered to read my fortune in the runes instead. I got the distinct feeling it was either this or nothing, so I agreed. I'll try to write down what she said as verbatim as my memory can make it. It's still very clear in my mind, even after several days.

"Your path lies among the stars. You will wander long, but fate will guide your future footsteps. The scholar, the soldier, the stargazer and the traitor. These four shall lead in the final rebellion, in the casting off of shackles from one end of the universe to the other." The first part certainly could apply to myself and the rest of SG-1, but that didn't impress me overly much since she had already met us - the old fortuneteller's trick of making the known seem strange and mysterious. The last part made me a bit uncomfortable, though, since it could indicate that either Trieste herself or the Tok'Ra in general seemed to be placing a lot of faith in us. I said as much, but she just gathered the runestones for another cast. The second reading was much more personal.

"Your lady awaits you at the threshold. She cannot come to you. You must go to her." I was struck speechless for a moment, wondering what that meant, whether Sha're lived and it was up to me to save her or whether she was dead and I wouldn't see her again until I died as well. Or whether she was simply beyond reach in this life. Trieste got up and started to leave, and I tried to stop her, to ask her whether she meant that Sha're was alive or dead. She made a vague response about life and death being two parts of one thing and that it didn't really matter in the end. That made me angry, and I told her it mattered to me. I told her Jolinar of Malkshur had claimed to know where Sha're was, and I asked her to tell me if she knew as well. She said what any Tok'Ra knows dies when he or she does. She could only tell me what the runes said. I would have to discover the meaning of the message for myself.

I was so frustrated and angry and disappointed I could only manage a half-hearted thanks before leaving the longhouse.

Brecca followed me. She only wanted to be sure I was all right, but I got annoyed with her and told her that was a stupid question and of course I wasn't all right. I asked her how she would feel. Wrong question to ask. I just wasn't thinking straight. She called me a cold-hearted bastard. I certainly deserved that. Then she told me she pitied me, centering my entire life around a chance that was slim at best. She said it didn't matter whether Sha're was dead or alive because I was dead to everything but a ridiculous hope. Then she stormed off.

I was stunned. I wanted to be angry at her, but I couldn't be. I know where that kind of pain comes from and I know how crazy it can make you. I know what it's like to feel completely out of control, like nothing you do matters. I wanted to follow her, but even though I could understand her pain, I was furious at her for throwing it back in my face.

I took a walk instead. A long walk. The kind where you don't even see where you're going because your mind is racing at about a million miles a second. I ended up in a clearing down by the stream, and there was Brecca, sitting on a rock, staring out at nothing. I guess she was as lost in her own thoughts as I had been in mine because she just about jumped out of her skin when I put my hand on her shoulder. She looked for a minute like she wanted nothing more in the world than to hit me as hard as she could, but then she turned away and tried to wipe the tears from her face.

I sat down next to her, and the words just started to pour out of her, how lonely she had been, how much she had loved Toras, how they had known each other so well she sometimes swore they could read one another's minds. She was silent for a long moment after that, trying to calm herself with deep breaths. Then she reluctantly admitted to me that however well Toras had known her mind, he had never really known her heart. That was a difficult confession for her to make. I got the feeling she had never said that to anyone before, not even to Toras. Especially not to Toras. She talked about how she always tries to live from the heart, making no apologies for who she is, no regrets, no hanging onto the past. Here and now is all that matters, but the past keeps trying to drag her back to something she can never have again, something she never really had in the first place.

Then she said we were both cowards, that she didn't have the courage to face the future and that my heart was so far away I would never have the courage to live in the here and now. She said we were both pitiful. I didn't know what to say to that. On one level, I felt what she said was true, but on another level, I knew it was completely wrong. I told her she wasn't a coward. I realized I was touching her hair, brushing it away from her face. Then I kissed her. Or maybe she kissed me. I'm not quite sure. It doesn't really matter. We were both desperately in need of something real, here and now, tangible. The night air was cold, so we went back to the library, to my room there.

I don't quite know how to describe that night I spent with her. It wasn't like anything I've ever experienced before, and I hope I'll never experience anything even remotely like it again. It was too desperate, too full of the urgency to prove something, to hold onto something. But it was sweet, too, and heart-breaking. The risk of living from the heart.

I left the next morning. I didn't even finish the research I was working on. We both agreed it was for the best. Brecca needs to find her own way out of the past. I can't be that for her any more than she can take the place of what I've lost. Not now. Maybe not ever. Maybe there's nothing that can take the place of what I've lost, not even the thing I lost itself. There's still too many questions that need answers, still too much in my life that's unresolved. If only I knew for certain. If only there were more than just a glimmer of hope. If only there were no hope at all. Far too many ifs. Trieste told me I have to find the meaning for myself. Brecca told me to live from the heart. I'm not sure I can do both. Laying aside the questions and living from the heart takes courage and faith.

I don't know that I'll ever be able to stop asking why, to stop looking for answers and simply accept what is. For one night, though, I think I was as close as I'll ever be.

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "To a Skylark"

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