The Note

It twisted her inside, like an ephemeral hand inside wrenching her apart; her mind, her heart, her soul. She folded and placed the yellowed note in her pouch. Re-reading it again would not change anything. Smoothing her skirts nervously, her green eyes flashed absently, engrossed in thought, wrestling with her inner tumult. It was a time for action, not for thought. She haphazardly gathered her gear, not wasting the time to pack nearly, as was her custom. Her mind was mechanical in suppressing her loss, anxiety and pain. Instead, she planned and hoped. He was not, could not be dead.