Two months. Spring. That was another word for it. Spring. The first two weeks had been inaction. At first, he had not thought it to be fear. He was not supposed to feel fear. That did not mean he did not. It simply meant that he could not properly identify it. Eventually, he worked this out. The sheer realization had caused a second wave of fear. What else could he not recognize? What else did he not know? Still, he knew about fear. He knew that being afraid, while hardly admirable, was still acceptable under certain circumstances. True bravery was acting despite that. While he had reason to doubt that true bravery was the ultimate aim in life, cowardice was more distasteful to him than his moderate attempts at introspection could overcome.
So one month in, he acted.
The Priory of Snowstill had never fully been rebuilt, or if it had, it certainly hadn't kept. It had been a sanctuary. It had been a foul lair and a scene of horrors. It had been a place of peace and a place of war. Now it was a shadow of all of those things, much as he was a shadow of whoever he was or even might have been. He had worked fields nearby in those memories that he did think to be accurate. He had watched his mentors and fellows die here. It was here where his false path began. That much he was sure of. It made sense for him to return here.
He was no mason, no builder. He meant to make a shelter. His efforts were futile, ramshackle. Still, if he could do nothing else, he could be stubborn. If he could stand to fear, he could far more easily not surrender.
This was an easier choice, a more straightforward battle for someone that craved such simple purple. Work was purpose unto itself. Therefore, he had little reason to return to Myrkentown, little reason to encounter those who would have answers for him. He returned to buy supplies and each time he did, he asked someone unrelated to the situation a simple question or two. He did not seek out Kals Olwak. He did not look for Glenn Burnie or Genny Tolleson or even Old Treadwell. He did not seek Solena or Ariane Emory. People had lived through this. Even a few years older, even with the patch over his eye, even with him expressing a clumsy care, he would be noticed.
After four weeks of his endeavors, however, as best as he could tell no one much seemed to care.