The Pillars Of The World

needs.” She dashed to the bathing room, opened the small chest that held those supplies, then hesitated.
    “You’re going to be living with the man,” she told herself sternly. “And it’s not like he doesn’t already know what these cloths are for.” Still, she felt her cheeks heat as she took some of the rolled cloths.
    Well, she would just have to get used to it. But looking at the cloths reminded her of something else.
    Dashing for the kitchen, she took out the jar of herbs she used during her fertile days. That reminded her to take the “recipe” book that contained the notes for the various simples and teas that she and the other witches in her family had made. Of course, she couldn’t be certain she would find the same plants in the western part of Sylvalan, but these were things she couldn’t leave behind. And the small jar of healing ointment would be handy to have as well.
    By the time she got back to the bedroom, Morag had one saddlebag filled to bulging.
    “Give me those,” Morag said. Unfolding the tunic, she had just folded, she wrapped the jars and book.
    Ari jammed the rolled cloths in the bottom of the second saddlebag. The jars and book went in next.
    While Ari folded another tunic and a pair of trousers, Morag opened the dressing table drawers. She pulled out the jewelry box.
    “You’ll want to take this.”
    Ari shook her head. “They’re just trinkets.” If Lucian had truly cared, would she be leaving Brightwood today?
    Yes, I would. He just made it easier for me to decide. Lucian was like a powerful storm, intense and overwhelming, impressive in its moment. But Neall is soft rain, the kind of quiet rain that sinks deep into the earth. Storms may be exciting for a while, but it’s the soft rain that I love and want to embrace for a lifetime.
    Morag opened the jewelry box. “These may be trinkets in one respect, but they do have value. Keep a couple of pieces for sentimental reasons and sell the rest.” She held up one piece. “A pin like this will buy you the best room at an inn, a good meal, stabling and feed for the horses, and a hot bath. After a few days on the road, you’ll welcome all of those things.”
    “Why should I feel sentimental about any of those things?” Ari said a little defiantly. She was surprised to see Morag wince.
    “I was thinking of your mother and grandmother,” Morag said gently. “If they had a favorite piece or two, you might want to keep those.”
    “Oh. Yes, there are a couple of pieces like that.”
    Bringing the jewelry box over to the bed, Morag wrapped it in a wool vest, then worked it into the saddlebag, shoving it down the side as far as she could. She fastened the buckles on the saddlebags and stepped back. “That’s it, then.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “What are you going to do now?”
    Ari blinked back tears. Leaving Brightwood would have been easier if they’d been able to wait until the harvest. It would have been easier if she could have packed her own things, spent a little time picking and choosing the yarns and the looms she wanted to take with her, the bedding, the pots and pans, her collection of drawings that she used to inspire the weaving. It felt too much like she was being torn away instead of leaving on her own. But she understood why the cottage had to be empty when these Inquisitor men arrived in Ridgeley. If they were going to arrive at all.
    Let it go. Don’t look back. Someone else will feel the way the land here sings and will call it home.
    Maybe they’ll need all the things you leave behind. Maybe they’ll stay, and another family will write about Brightwood in their journals.
    Ari gasped. The journals. She couldn’t leave them here in an empty cottage.
    “Ari?” Morag asked sharply. “What’s wrong?”
    “Oh.” Wanting to ease the concern in Morag’s eyes, Ari made an effort to smile. “I just remembered something else. When I take the sun stallion and the mares over to Ahern’s, I want to ask him if he would bring the journals over to his house. I don’t want them left here.”
    Morag frowned. “Journals?”
    “My family’s history. Brightwood’s history, really.”
    Morag nodded. “What are you going to do now?”
    “Finish making the list of things I’d like to take in the wagon so I can bring that to Ahern too.” Ari made a face. “In case I have to explain what any of the things are. I doubt Ahern has paid much attention to anything that deals with