Neither Lost Nor Found
She took her packages to the local pub, finding a small corner table near the window. It was a small but welcoming place that served all day, having most of its business in the afternoons and evenings when the locals came in for their pints. The seafood chowder was excellent and she could only hope their morning fare would be as good.
After placing her order she opened the wrapping and pulled out the book on birds. First things first, she needed to try to figure out how bad the injury was. She read through the basic anatomy section. From what she gathered, the area where the gash was located would definitely impair the swan's ability to take flight, at least until it was healed. She would need to get a better look at the wound to see if any of the ligatures were damaged to know more.
Next up, what would the bird need in terms of food? Here the news was worse. Wild swans apparently ate mostly underwater vegetation. "How in the world am I going to get that?" she wondered. The patron at the table gave her a sidelong glance. Apparently she had said that out loud. She would have to guard her thoughts a bit more carefully. She was getting too used to being alone and talking to herself, she supposed. She searched in her bag and took out a pen and fumbled around looking for her notebook. It wasn't there. She had left it back at the cottage. She tore off a piece of the wrapping paper and began to make a list of what she thought she would need. "Gauze, some sort of antibiotic ointment would probably be helpful, a plaster of some kind perhaps, maybe a rake or a golf-ball retreiver would make it possible to get some of the vegetation near the cove?" she mumbled as she made out her list. She glanced around. Not loud enough to be heard that time, thank goodness. It would really be helpful if she knew a veterinarian that she could turn to, but she was reluctant to try and find one. Something told her that this was not a task that the town folk would willingly help with. She couldn't quite put her finger on why, but she knew it wasn't something they would want to hear more about, much less participate in. She fingered Roary's card. No, she could not call him. He had been just a bit too odd over the book request. She drank her tea then, adding plenty of the milk that came with it and practically swallowing the scones whole. She had not realized just how hungry she was until the food had arrived. She added some provisions for herself to the list, paid her fare and left.
In the end almost everything was easy to purchase, though the man at the golf shop did think it was really odd that she wanted a ball retriever. Apparently there were not a lot of water hazards on the courses nearby. She supposed she was lucky that he even kept a few in stock. Armed with her purchases she made her way back to the cottage. She changed into layers of clothing and packed her backpack this time. She did not intend to spend the night, but she did want to go prepared. She added a full-sized flashlight, her camera and a tin of sardines to the bag at the last minute. Though why she even had sardines was beyond her. She did not like them, but the shopkeeper had insisted that they were a regular part of one's larder in this area so she had purchased them. She was just about out of the door when she remembered her note book. She set the pack down and went back to get it. She really did not want to go back to the little cove and not have a place to set down her thoughts.
She combed through all the paper on her desk, but it wasn't there. She sorted through the clothes that draped the old rocking chair, hunted through her larger jacket pockets, tore her travel cases apart, and still could not find it. "Where the bleeding hell did I put it?" she asked the room. She spent the next hour making a thorough search of the cottage and even the grounds surrounding the cottage. The little green notebook had simply disappeared. She went from concerned, to frantic, to crushed. That little book held the last two years of her life. Well, figuratively at least. She had kept that with her and recorded the best and worst of all that had passed - everything that had brought her to this place in this time. Now it was missing, probably through some self-destructive compulsion on her part, but still gone. She slid to the floor in front of the stove and let herself silently weep. So much had been lost, ripped apart and rearranged over the last 24 months, to lose this too, this small little bit of what was left, seemed like too much to bear. How was anyone supposed to find a way to absorb all of it? God, how was she going to find her way? Why did everyone seem to think she already had? She let the tears slide silently down her cheeks until they dried, leaving their remnants behind like empty river beds.
"Enough," she breathed, as she pushed herself off the floor. She rummaged around until she found some loose paper that had not yet been drawn or scribbled on, stuffed it haphazardly into the backpack and slung the pack almost violently over her shoulder. She had things to do that had nothing to do with a past she couldn't change. She strode out, pulling the door closed and locking the latch behind her. She had wasted a lot of time. If she was going to make it to the cove and back again tonight, she would have to hurry.
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