Open Heart Closure (XXI)

Tristan shed the paralyzing ambiance of the bathroom with the swiftness of doffing a water-saturated cloak.

In a few steps, he was into the short hall, then heading towards his cache of belongings.

It didn’t take him long to gather up his scant possessions.  They were haphazardly strewn about the room.  After all, he hadn’t intended to stay there for long, it was simply a place to execute his procedure.

The paltry accommodations were, actually, an aid to quickly locating his travel garments, pack, and, various accouterments.  He scurried about gathering his items, giving little consideration to their long-term, or immediate importance.  He felt a powerful urge to vacate the lodgings.

When he gathered his travel pack, he realized that it was not cinched.  And, upon further investigation, he found a small pouch within, which he took out of the pack.

As soon as his fingers touched the fabric, he frustratedly exhaled from his nostrils, and shook his head.

He returned to the bathroom, and surveyed the floor.  The object wasn’t hard to find, its shiny, gold, construction, glimmered in sharp contrast to the drab floor.

Tristan cursed himself for being so careless, then snatched up the miniature arrow, and placed it in the pouch.

He placed the pouch into the bag, stuffed a few random articles of clothing in the pack, then threw it over his left shoulder. He took a cursory sweep around the sparsely appointed room, surveying for any personal remainders.  When finding none,  he turned towards the door.

He stepped forward with his right leg, then stopped.  He reached into his front pocket, felt cloth against the top of his hand, then leather, and metal against his palm.  He closed his hand around the key, and band, then drew it from his pocket.

With his the fingers of his right hand, he plied apart the leather strand, then deftly slipped it over his head, letting it fall once he drew the band beyond his ears.  The band flopped down to rest at the vertebrae at the base of his neck.  The key swung down, and with a fleshy thud, alighted upon his breastplate.

Tristan then strode towards the door, placed his hand on the knob, twisted, then swung the wooden panel towards him.

Before exiting, he slowly turned his head, and stared, with atypical unaffectedness, at the staging grounds for his recently executed procedure.

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded, then shifted his attention to the open door. He exited swiftly.  Then, with a loud thud, he forcefully pulled the door shut behind him.

 

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