Aliya stands just outside the winnebago's doorway as motionless as if her feet have grown roots that intertwined in the mesh of the step. She wills her feet to move, to take the step to the floor of the garage, but all that she succeeds in is a tight lipped whimper of fear that reverberates through the mostly empty bays eerily.

She almost hears the oozing sound of drool sliding over monstrous lips and the scrape of lumbering footsteps, but it is, of course, only echos stirring in her mind. Mere echos that nonetheless bring her terrified eyes to each shadow in the darkening garage.

'I have to go now,' she thinks, before I lose my will entirely.' Again she makes an effort to wrench her feet free from their roost. One foot, then the other, land on the cold concrete floor. She shivers, but not because of the cold, for she had remembered to put on her soft boots this time, but from the undeniable feeling that a hand is about to reach out and close around her ankle in an icy grasp. When it doesn't come, she flings herself blindly across the bay in the direction of the door, fleeing fears that threaten to consume her.

In the gathering darkness, she misjudges her path, though how she could possibly have missed the placement of that bright red monstrosity Guy calls... called... his car she couldn't figure. Careening off it's bumper with a tear of fabric and scrape of skin, she makes it to the door and wrenches it open, throwing herself out into the snow. Slamming the door behind her and pressing her back against it as if to keep her fears from following her, she sinks into a crouch sobbing wearily.

Checking the skin through blurry eyes to confirm the minor damage, her mind seizes on thoughts of Guy. Inside she wails, `Why? Why did you leave me? Why now? Why aren't you here when I need you?' They are useless questions and she knows it, but it is easier to ask than to face things alone.

Her strict inner voice schools her yet again, He is gone. He's not coming back this time. No message will arrive that asks you to meet him in some strange new place. He is dead.' And though she cringes at the thought, she believes it to be true and a deep shudder runs through her body ending her sobs. Swearing at herself in a foreign tongue, she ridicules her need for him. I've wrapped my entire existence around him, made him the center of my life, the light of my world... but his death cannot bring darkness or I may as well curl into a ball there in that snowbank and sleep until I join him. No! I can go on, I will go on, I can even love again.'

A soft smile slips over her lips as her thoughts turn to the woman who gave her the gift of that knowledge. Her eyes search the snow covered streets for her willowy form as if the mere thought of her would conjure an appearance. They find nothing but footprints that may or may not have been hers.

The smile does not last long though as her chest tightens again in fear at the sound of heavy footsteps coming from an alley across the way. Trying to curl herself into invisibility, she cringes until the stranger emerges and walks out of sight. Her lower lip bleeds a bit where her teeth sank into it as the desire to call out for Kim's help warred with the need not to give her position away. The inner voice scolds her in a foreign tongue, By the Spirit, you are a cowardly thing! You want to call for help when there is no need and no one to hear anyway? Why don't you curl into the snow and die? It'd be far easier.'

Tears begin another slow trickling down olive cheeks as she shakes her head, mind reeling against the voice. No! I'll get through this and I'm not going to let myself depend entirely on one person ever again! I'll stand on my own two feet, if I have to die trying!' As if to prove it to herself, she does stand albeit shakily and pushes herself away from the shelter of the garage doorway. Trudging though the snowy streets, she heads in the direction of the market and the things she needs to begin her ritual separation from the man she loved.

But even as she walks, she knows that the tendrils of her being, of her need, are reaching out to wrap around the tender and yet so strong woman who seems to make even breathing easier. The climbing rose's vines intertwine delicately through the trellis, seeking its strength and form to enable its growth even as it yearns to be a bush.