His return to Sacramento went much better than he had anticipated. Not being cursed by the Wyrd might skew his perception of things, but even then: the Freehold welcomed Gerrit back with open arms, and after a few weeks Rosie's was doing about as well as it had last fall.


The Stonebones had been less hasty about looking for the Hollow he had shared with Cassandra and John. Frankly, he was afraid of what would expect him there: emotions and memories buried under a thick layer of snow, a manifested expression of the Wyrd's curse, it being gone all-together - every bad possibility seemed equally feasible. On the other hand, giving up the things they had worked for appeared even worse to him.
So he went to the graveyard, found the key to the mausoleum they had hidden, and entered the frosty tomb unnoticed one evening. So far, so good. Opening the door had a coppery taste assault his senses, which told him that the connection to the Hollow was apparently still intact. Were he a different man, Gerrit would feel optimistic.


He found the Winter Hollow's clearing well enough, mostly unchanged by time or the disappearance of his friends. Was he disappointed by the fact that, ultimately, the Hedge did not seem to care about his Motley, nor the hardships he had endured alone? Not really. He could not begin to imagine under what logic the Wyrd operated in that regard, so he had to find out what work needed to be done and simply do it.


Cautiously he approached the hobbit-dwelling like knoll harboring a wooden door. Seemed like Cassandra's wards were no longer working - he had to get to that at some point. Maybe what remained of the Autumn Court could help him there.
Inside he moved from room to room, looking out for lost Hobgoblins, squatters, or anything else that he needed to deal with. What he found was only dusty, cold, and empty rooms. Even the cellar was still usable and in.. okay condition. He could work with that.


After he had finished his round he ended up in the living room again, feeling as cold and empty as the Hollow. He sat down on the quaint blue couch and closed his eyes, fists clenched tightly. This was the Winter Court's Hollow, all right - a place of Sorrow. Only there was no Winter Court left in Sacramento, it was only him.


Minutes passed. Gerrit was painfully aware of his tense muscles, the bruises and scars all over his body, the pulling ache of missing his friends in his chest. Still, he kept his eyes closed and focused on his breathing. He had to move forward, to keep on living.
In his head, a checklist of things to do began to form. Rid the rooms of dust and frost. Remove the dead Goblin Fruit plants in the workshop and plant new ones. Finally, go over the decorations and gather anything that reminded him of John and Cassandra. Put it in one of the unused rooms and honor their memory.


It would be a lot of work.
Gerrit opened his eyes and got started.