7. Packing Up

"So you are planning on leaving?" Moira surmised, as they stepped into the sitting room to find most of her things strewn around the tables, chairs, and deeply cushioned couch.

Dorothy's mind raced to find a likely answer, but she'd all but forgotten she'd started packing to begin with. "No," she dimissed. "Cleaning is all. Gettin' rid of some things."

"You know," Moira said, eyeing her suspiciously, "if I weren't such a trusting woman, I might think you are planning on leaving but you just don't want me as your travelling companion."

Dorothy made a dismissive sort of murmur. "I ain't plannin' on leavin', but if I was you'd be the last person to accompany me. Lie as you might, we ain't old friends."

"No?" Moira placed her steaming bowl of stew on the table, moving some clothes off the chair so she could take a seat. "You used to visit at least once a season."

"Only neighbours we had."

"Don't recall you getting new neighbours," Moira mentioned, idling supping at a spoonful of stew. "How long has it been since you visited last? Over ten winters?"

Dorothy grunted. "Wonder why that might be."

"You stabbing Eustace did somewhat sour things."

Dorothy sat on the couch, on a narrow spot that wasn't covered with her hastily stacked clothes. But she didn't much feel like eating anymore. "Weren't that for me."

Moira sat staring forward, not bothering to look over to her. "No...?"

"Sharp knife's a quick answer to wandering hands," Dorothy muttered. "But your lies was what I couldn't stomach. Spread through town like flames through tinder. Lost me a lot of friends that did. Least I thought they were friends. Lucky for me that Gordon was a trusting sort or that could've gone a lot worse. All for the sake of your fun."

"Fun?" Moira doubtfully echoed. "It wasn't fun for me at all. Only slightly more bearable than having the whole town laughing behind my back because my Eustace can't keep his hands to himself. Besides... what was I supposed to do? Turn on my own husband? That's not how the world works, is it? I'd thrown my lot in. I made do with what I had. Even if that meant your reputation had to get a little tarnished. It wasn't like you ever cared what people thought to begin with. Eustace wanted nothing to do with me most days. I needed those people on my side. Far more than you did."

"Long as you're happy, eh, Moira?"

"Happy?" Moira asked. "What a stupid thing to think. Look at us, Dorothy. We're old. Poor. Barely managing to survive in a forest full of goblins and worse. Our best days are well and truly behind us. If I'm lucky I'll find some half-blind fool to spend my last winters with and if I'm not I'm going to die alone. Haven't heard from my children in as long as I can remember. They probably think I'm dead. And you were really the only friend I ever had and look how that went. Come here after all this time and you look liable to beat me to death with a pan."

Dorothy bitterly chuckled. "Can't say you wouldn't have earned it."

"I am sorry," Moira then said, glancing back over her shoulder. And there was a vulnerability in her voice that Dorothy had never heard before. "I... well, I was looking out for myself. But I should have come to you. You weren't the sort to gossip. And you weren't the sort to hold grudges, neither. I was embarrassed, I suppose. Jealous. Enraged. I wanted to beat you over the head with a pan as well. Then when he finally died I wondered what it was all for. All my youth and vigor given to this life we had that wasn't really a life at all. Crying over his deathbed not for my husband but for myself. Wishing you'd have stabbed him in the neck instead," she added. "Though then you'd really have set the tongues wagging."

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She stopped speaking for a long while and quietly sniffled to herself.

"Too thick," Dorothy finally replied.

"Hm?"

"His neck. Girdled by all those chins. Couldn't cut through it if I tried."

"Oh," Moira answered, levity returning to her tone. "You're probably right. I struggled to find his cock some nights."

Dorothy made a face, shocked to hear her talking so improper, and then she barked out a laugh.

Moira turned to her with a hopeful, regretful little smile playing on her sorrowed face. "So about that wine..."

***

Dorothy had never been good with liquor. But it was a change, not the most pleasant change mind, to wake up to an ache that was less of her body and more of her mind.

She felt queasy and her head throbbed not cause of her sore jaw but because she'd had a few too many cups of wine.

Her and Moira had stayed up most the night, chatting and drinking, and it had almost been like old times. They had been living in a distant memory like they were the best of friends again.

But then Dorothy had shuffled off to bed and she'd awoke to how things were and not how they'd been.

The truth was she could forgive Moira for her lies. She'd had a reason, at least. But she couldn't forgive all those people who had so readily turned against her. She didn't want to go and live among a town of folk who had gone against her off the back of some scandalous lies.

They should have known better.

Dorothy wasn't the sort to go around stabbing folk without good reason.

She had explained as much to Moira, who had seemed genuinely disappointed, and offered to stay for a night or two longer, but Dorothy said that she better be on her way. Both because she should and because she didn't know when one goblin or another might turn back up at her door.

Bad enough if this Chief Taruk wanted to kill Dorothy. But there was no need for Moira to get tangled up in the trouble as well.

"That's that, then?" Moira had asked now she stood by the open door of the kitchen. "Sure you're not gonna change your mind?"

"No chance of that," Dorothy dismissed. "This is my place. I'm too old to be starting over. Sure these goblins aren't gonna bother themselves with an old woman."

"Let's hope not," Moira said with a worried smile. "Or I'll have a dangerous trek into town. If you change your mind--"

"I'll come and find you," Dorothy assured.

The taller woman stepped forward to offer an awkward hug and then she stepped out and descended the stairs. "Best of luck, Dorothy," she called back to the kitchen.

"You as well," Dorothy replied. She was about to shut the door when Moira made a surprised yelp.

"Er... Dorothy," Moira began in a worried tone, "theres--well, you might want to come out and take a look at this yourself."

Dorothy's unease grew as she stepped out the door and crossed down the stairs. Thankfully, there were no giant goblins in sight, but her eyes soon found what Moira was looking at. Gob, battered and bloody, had dragged a dead stag out from the forest, but looked to have gotten tired or died before he reached the house. Dorothy felt a sudden flood of guilt. "Is he alive...?"

"What?" Moira answered. "How should I know? I don't want to get close enough to find out."

"Come on," Dorothy demanded, marching towards the fallen goblin. "Help me bring him inside."

"The goblin?" Moira asked in disbelief. "Have you lost your wits?We ought to leave it to die or finish it off."

"Help me," Dorothy said again. Please, Moira," she added more desperately, unable to shift the weight of the stag off of Gob. "I know the goblin. I sent him after the deer to begin with. Least I can do is take him inside 'nd patch him up."

Moira scrutinised her for a long moment as if Dorothy had turned completely witless. "Fine. But you're going to explain to me exactly what's been going on here."