Momentum

The walls of the workroom are already ringed with shelves. The tallest of them is high enough for Nita to reach on a stepstool, but only comes to Muse’s waist. The walls above that are blank - too high up to be practical for the smaller residents of the Meadows on any normal day.
 
Nita has a selection of small hand tools, enough to perform simple repairs around the home. More than enough to hang the floating shelves Muse has collected over the last few months. They are simple things, made of sealed but unfinished wood - made for function, not beauty. Still, once they are hung, the striking contrast of them against the plainer shelves below makes Muse sit back on their heels and stare for nearly an hour before they can continue.
 
The woven symbol of Rhodena that Ann gave them is the first thing to go on their shelves.
Beside it goes Peg's woven pine-needle basket, the lid propped open to let the scent of perfume fill the air. Next to that go the papers full of pressed flowers that Peg gave them weeks before, arranged delicately so that each one is fully visible and cannot be dislodged by a stray gust from the door. After that go all of Fix's drawings, one after another, tacked along the edges of the shelves so that they hang down, unrolled in their full, scribbly glory.
 
The next shelf is lower and a great deal broader, with an odd hole in the side where a knothole was punched out of it. Through this they hang the lacy black and white parasol Vera gave them. They loop Cardinal's gift, the carved fox pendant, around the handle of the parasol, where the light makes its surface glint. They fold their coats up one at a time and lay them gently on the shelf. Atop these they rest and the delicate knitted shawl, all in the shapes of autumn leaves, that Nita so lovingly crafted. On top of that goes Schatzi's hat, the crimson fabric a perfect match for the crimson of their nicest coat.
 
The next hour is spent with the pile of items shoved into the corners of the room. They are no longer taking up space just inside of Nita's front door, at least. Still, they are disorganized, half in and half out of their traveling backpack. And Muse is going to need the space to work.
 
They pull each item out and inspect it for signs of damage or disrepair. Then they find a place for it, either on the shelves or in the cupboards that line the workbench against the wall of the room. Most of the existing shelves are already full of reagents, solvents, and bundles of drying herbs, but now the spaces between are filled in with bundles of twine, stacks of charcoal and chalk, a pile of unused notebooks, and everything else Muse has bought or carried with them in the time since they left their home.
 
The books are last. These go on a narrow shelf inside the workbench, behind one of the cabinet doors. Notebooks filled with their own crude sketches and spidery notes take up the lefthand side. On the right are a collection of children's primers for common and elven that must be more than twenty years old. Stacked in the bottom of the cupboard are a few cookbooks that are even older, some written in common, most in an archaic form of elven, all yellowed and falling apart from age and exposure. And on top of these rests a tarnished silver spoon, the handle engraved with the Weiss family arms.
 
The last of their birthday gifts sits on top of the workbench. It waits until Muse is finished arranging everything else in the room. Only once that is done does Muse set their herbalism kit on the bench. They sit on the stool and open their kit, checking its contents over carefully. Victor's assessment had been remarkably accurate - they were running low on supplies. And they were going to need plenty more supplies before they were finished here.
 
They lay out a series of glass vials, freshly bought at the market. Then they set a heavy tome on the workbench beside their kit. Nita had said it was a collection of all of her mother's notes - everything she had learned in her days of potion and poultice-brewing. There is more information here than they can possibly use just yet. But it is a perfect place to start.
 
They look around the room again - the room they should not have, full of gifts from friends they should not have, granted to them by a family they should not have. And the urge to step outside is strong. They could walk out into the thicket and just…stop thinking for a while. Just let the pure, wild sensation of being close to the land course through them and forget, if only for a little bit.
 
...The scene in the Skybound returns with the clarity of a lightning-bolt. The blood and tears on every shirt. The exhaustion behind every set of eyes. The desperate relief of having lived on every face.
 
Muse flips the heavy tome open and runs a slender metal finger down the index. The handwriting reminds them of Nita's - rounded and coiling, with a slight tilt to the right. And just like Nita's notes, Entoloma's are clear and concise, easy to understand, with a hint of wry humor running underneath, encouraging the reader that this can, in fact, be done.
 
With this, they can do better. And no one will have to look up at them with their exhausted eyes and pretend they are not hurt ever again.