East

Rose

I AWOKE AT DAWN, which in itself wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the way I sat bolt upright feeling that I'd been smacked across the face.

I jumped out of bed and dressed with an urgency I didn't understand. I left my room quietly and made my way down the hall. Suddenly I stopped, not sure exactly where I was going. I stood like a hunting dog sniffing the air, trying to figure out the direction in which its quarry lay.

Then I knew. I made my way to the room where the white bear had been sleeping. Silently I opened the door. In the dim light from the porthole I could make out the slumbering forms of two sailors. But the third bunk, the white bear's bed, was empty.

In some odd way I had been expecting it. But I was flooded with despair anyway. He'd said nothing to me—no good-bye, nothing.

Then I saw something shiny lying on top of the neatly folded blankets of the empty bed.

I crossed the room. It was a silver ring, the one with VALOIS inscribed on it, the one I had worn on my thumb throughout the long journey. He had left it for me.

I grabbed it up, stuck it on my thumb, and left the room.

I returned to my quarters, got my cloak, then left the ship.

There were many people already on the docks, but none of them had seen a mail with golden hair wearing a coat of white fur. How long ago had he left? Could it have been as long ago as the night before, right after the last person had retired for the evening? I felt suddenly cold and wrapped the cloak tighter around my shoulders.

Was I going to have to seek him all over again? I felt a rush of anger. Why would he disappear like that, in the middle of the night with no explanation or even a goodbye?

I stopped midstride. Perhaps I should let him go, I thought.

Then I remembered his face those past few weeks, strained and pale, and my anger softened. Maybe this was what he needed to do.