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Aurora could not remember why she was crying.
Her mother had always told her she cried over the smallest things -- things not even children would cry over -- but Aurora had never cried over nothing before. Usually there was a reason, no matter how small.
Tears streamed heavily down her cheeks, and Aurora furiously wiped at them as she continued to stumble forwards. In her distress, svigr crackled from her fingertips like electricity.
Aurora stopped in her tracks, hiccuping as she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. It took her a few tries, and her breaths were still stuttered, but Aurora did manage to calm herself down enough to take a look at her surroundings.
She was on a dirt path, frequently used by the looks of it, although it seemed to get more untamed further up ahead. The sides of the path were surrounded by trees, bushes, and other shrubbery, and if Aurora strained her hears, she could hear birdsong coming from above.
Aurora glanced behind her, and looked to the path she had already walked.
Something about it, about how much it had been traveled before, seemed like the right choice.
And so, Aurora turned around and headed back to where she came from.
The further Aurora walked, the more she calmed down. Svigr stopped shooting from her hands involuntarily, and now that she could focus better, Aurora could tell that she'd been down this path many times before. Small traces of her own magic clung to the leaves and bark, and only solidified her decision that turning back where she came from was the right way to go.
Aurora wasn't sure how long she had been walking, but by the time the path opened up to a clearing, her tears were dried and long-forgotten.
She stepped into the clearing and looked around in awe. For lack of better words, this place was gorgeous.
There was a creek running along the side of the clearing, almost completely hidden underneath the nearly endless knee-length grass. Aurora could see a deer drinking from it quietly, not paying any mind to her presence. In the middle of the clearing was a small, wooden cottage, with decorative vines lacing up the sides. The vines had small, white flowers throughout them, and they hung from the house to a nearby tree. It created a small canopy, so heavenly that Aurora had to consciously shut her mouth and remind herself to blink.
Aurora might not know where she was, but for the moment, she found that she didn't care. All she wanted to do right now was curl under the tree, and maybe study from her spellbook.
Aurora walked to the base of the tree, as silent as she could possibly be, and traced her fingers over the tree's bark. It was rough and uneven -- a stark contrast from everything else, which seemed to teeter on the edge of perfection -- but Aurora thought that it was perhaps the most comforting thing she had seen here thus far.
It, too, had imperfections, just like her. It made her feel less alone.
Aurora sat down, leaning against the trunk of the tree and looking over the scenery one last time. It was only once she ahd her fill that Aurora pulled out her spellbook to practice. She murmured pense-recupe under her breath, and watched as the svigr from her hands molded into the shape of her beloved, handwritten book. Aurora had always kept it with her ever since she was little, whether that was on her person, or in her dimensional pocket.
Not wanting to waste any time, Aurora opened the pages and started to lose herself in them.
Ambrose watched Aurora carefully as she flipped through the pages of her spellbook. Ambrose wanted nothing more than to slip from the bark, to create a human form, and hug Aurora tightly. It hurt her to see Aurora so upset, all while not being able to do anything about it.
"Hello?" Aurora called out, looking around herself curiously, "Is someone there?"
For a second, Ambrose was startled. Aurora should not have been able to detect her -- not a human presence to call out to -- but Ambrose then supposed that Aurora was especially talented at detecting svigr, whether it was her own, or someone else's.
And so, Ambrose, not wanting to leave Aurora alone if she didn't have to, gently slipped from the bark where Aurora could not see her, and then walked around to the front. Ambrose smiled at Aurora, who blinked at her few times in surprise, "Hello."
Aurora carefully put her book down, giving a tentative smile back, "I'm sorry, is this your house? I didn't mean to intrude."
"Oh no," Ambrose said, "It's been a while since I've met someone new. I don't mind the company, not at all."
Aurora murmured something under her breath, and the book in her hands glowed bright before it disappeared altogether, "I'm glad to hear it. I'm Aurora."
"Ambrose. Well met, Aurora." Ambrose did a half bow as a joke, and was delighted to see that Aurora laughed a bit.
"Well met, Ambrose." Aurora stood up, using the tree to help balance herself, and turned to her, "I would hate to burden you, but I think I need help. I can't remember where we are, or where I came from. Do you know where this is, or of any nearby places?"
Ambrose frowned, "Some call this place Ambrose, my namesake," she said. "But I've only ever been here, for as long as I can remember. Not many traveler's come by, either. I don't know of any nearby places."
"Huh, Ambrose in Ambrose," Aurora said, "That's pretty cool. And it's alright, I can..."
Aurora trailed off, furrowing her brows. Ambrose could see the gears turning in her head, so Ambrose looked at the deer she knew was drinking from her creek, and silently ushered him to come over.
"Are you alright?" Ambrose asked, putting a hand on Aurora's shoulder. Aurora shied from her touch, and Ambrose cursed herself for acting too familiar.
The deer, who had just reached them, nudged Aurora in the side, rubbing his head into her hip to ger her attention. Aurora startled briefly, before she smiled at the deer and patted his head kindly, "Hey there, little guy," she said. The deer leaned his head into her touch familiarly, craving the love and affection Aurora was sure to give.
Ambrose smiled at the scene, and she, too, reached out to pet the deer. Aurora tilted her head, "What's their name?"
"His name is Dough-Dough."
"Doe, like a female deer?" Aurora asked in confusion, "Or Dodo, like the bird?
"Neither," Ambrose laughed, smiling fondly back at the memory of how the deer was named. "It's because he really likes bread. There'll be bread in the oven, and Dough-Dough will be knocking his head against the door to say he wants some."
Aurora frowned, and brought her gaze up from Dough-Dough to Ambrose. Ambrose could tell Aurora felt conflicted about something, "Somehow, I know he loves rye."
Ambrose cautiously nodded, "He does."
"And he refuses to eat sourdough."
"Yes."
And then everything seemed to click for Aurora. Her eyes widened, and when she spoke again, Ambrose could hear the quiver in Aurora's voice, "I named him."
This was all happening much sooner than it had in the past. Aurora wasn't supposed to remember for another few weeks at the very least.
Ambrose swallowed, "You did."
"You're keeping me here!" Aurora accused, and svigr crackled from her sharply. She took a step back, and at her shout, Dough-Dough ran off in fright.
"I'm doing it for your own safety," Ambrose pleaded, "It's not safe for you out there. We can be safe here, please, Aurora."
"'Rose, it's not safe out there for them!" Aurora cried, tears welling in her eyes, "How can I stay here when others need me?"
"How could you even think of sacrificing yourself like that for them?" Ambrose shot back. "I know where this all leads, you can't just-"
"It's not for you to decide!" Aurora shouted. "I love you, 'Rose, you're like a sister to me. But I can't just leave them to suffer when I can do something about it!"
Ambrose looked down, a sad smile on her face. "I love you too, Aurora." She pulled Aurora into a hug, and Aurora held her just as tightly as Ambrose held her, "You're right. I'll let you go, just be careful, ok? Please come back."
Aurora sniffled, and Ambrose could feel her wet tears against her neck, "I will. I will."
When they pulled apart, it was almost bittersweet. Aurora looked at Ambrose as though it would be the last time she would ever see her, and Ambrose knew that if Aurora left, it truly would be. Aurora's eyes were red, but something about the way she looked seemed determined -- set in stone, perhaps.
It was one of the traits Ambrose admired most in Aurora. Despite how sensitive and emotional she could be, Aurora never seemed to falter in her decisions.
"I'll see you in a bit," Aurora said, turning towards the forest she had came from, with tears streaming heavily down her cheeks.
"In a bit," Ambrose affirmed.
They waved, and Aurora headed off.
Ambrose let her walk for a few minutes, before she melted back into the bark. She felt bad doing this, but she knew it was the best thing she could do for Aurora -- Aurora was going to get hurt if she truly did leave.
And so Ambrose grounded herself, feeling Aurora's light footsteps patter down the path she always used -- Aurora, and Aurora alone. Ambrose had been telling the truth before when she said there weren't many travelers that came by, the only one was Aurora.
When Ambrose felt that she was ready, she let her svigr flow from the tops of her favorite tree's branches, the one right next to the cabin, and used it to play a gentle, soothing song.
In a few short moments, Aurora would forget why she was crying.