Moiraine

She has closed the main switchboard for the day and is preparing to walk back to the apartment in the early evening, as is her usual habit.  When Moiraine leaves the sheriff's department, however, she finds that someone is waiting for her outside.  He looks up as the door opens, and nods a greeting.

"Give you a lift?"

The Aes Sedai does not allow her surprise to show, but inclines her head to him in turn.

"Thank you, Hawk.  I should be pleased to accept."

The trip is largely silent at first, save for the hum of the engine as he concentrates on navigating the road, still icy in spots.  She is not particularly surprised at this, as Tommy 'Hawk' Hill has always been inclined to be taciturn, insofar as she herself has seen.  For her part, Moiraine also remains quiet, observing the surrounding scenery with polite interest.

Eventually, he clears his throat.  "The dog's okay."

It needs no real thought for her to know what he is referring to; she herself had been the one to relay the call through dispatch that very morning.  A report of an attack by a wild animal, down at the lower edge of town.

"Is it so?" she replies.  "I am glad to hear it."

Hawk nods.  "It was starving; been through a hell of a time, from the looks of things.  Diane's looking after it over at the clinic now.   Says it's going to pull through just fine." A beat. "You knew it wasn't a wolf."

"I suspected," she tells him, with a very small shrug.  "It did not seem likely that it would be, from how the incident was described."  There is a pause, but her hesitation lasts only a fraction of an instant before she adds, matter-of-factly, "From what I have known of wolves, they would not behave in such fashion."

"Mmm."  Another beat.  "Used to be wolves around here, it's said.  They left, a long time ago."

"That might be considered something worth regret," she says, quietly.  "By some."

"Yeah.  By some."  He pulls up at the curb and puts the vehicle in park, although he leaves the engine running. "One of Diane's techs is moving down to Pullman for a while.  Vet school.  Washington State.  She's looking to rent her place." 

Hawk glances over at her. "Told her I might know someone who'd be interested."

"As it happens, you do,"  Moiraine murmurs.

It happens slowly, as most things worth having do.

Moiraine has sorted through the clothes that Lucy bought for her with Harry Truman's money, selecting those that she feels comfortable with and carefully folding those that she does not. The latter she returns to the suitcase and stores at the back of the closet; the former she continues to wear. Long denim skirts matched with cotton and flannel shirts -- even though such things are a far cry from the silk and wool gowns of her youth and adulthood, she is able to adapt.

She is becoming accustomed to the deep and abiding restlessness that she thinks is a legacy of the habits of a life lived without peace, and finds ways to appease it. She spends time at the library, searching through dusty old histories and forgotten files. Eventually, after watching her work, the librarian's demeanor unbends from suspicion of an outsider into something of austere approbation, and Moiraine is given access to genealogical records and handwritten letters, as well.

Occasionally she meets with Pete Martell. She accepts coffee when he offers it -- by now she can even drink it without distaste, although she fears she will never have true affection for the bitter brew -- and listens to his story about the time the fish got into the percolator, as well as the other tales that come to his mind, of this and that family, this event and that story. There is much to be learned from such ramblings, she knows; and if there is something of comfort and familiarity in the seeking, it is something of a grace.

(Catherine Martell does not make her presence known during these meetings, although Moiraine is well aware that she is not unobserved. It is of no great import; she can wait, and has had enough of dealings in the past with similar individuals such that she is not overly concerned.)

Sometimes they play chess. She does not win every game, by no means, but neither does she always lose, and she thinks that the challenge pleases him. Pete tells her the names of others she might talk to in Twin Peaks and elsewhere, such as the library in Seattle and the historical collections there. The former she makes note of, with intent to follow up; when he mentions the latter, she nods and demurs, at least for now, the same as she does when he suggests that she might enjoy fishing.

On some days she walks in one direction or another (excepting always the routes which might lead to certain sycamore groves), breathing in the scent of the air and becoming accustomed to it. She does not drive, of course, and cannot truly fathom what might be involved in learning to do so, but it is of no matter, not at present.

She is content.

It is something of a surprise, when she realizes it.

It is quiet in the apartment.

Moiraine has settled herself by the window with a book, but the text is being ignored in favor of the view.

There is a thoughtful look on her face.