Solo Log: Worry

**Spring 25, 501 AOV**

For someone embroiled in an overwhelmingly large conspiracy theory involving the highest echelons of the local, regional, and international government, Hoya found an impressive amount of time to spend on other projects. Usually inconsequential things: helping an elderly florist cut flowers one afternoon, a pregnant shopkeeper re-stock the lower shelves she could no longer reach, a young docker with planning the music for his protest.

She helped wash laundry at the orphanage with Dreues, even as the lycanthrope bear continued to make her nervous. She meticulously wrote labels for Mona’s potions in neat, practiced script. She spent late evenings tinkering with Cleone, though her technological skill was questionable at best. Hoya even offered to help Antonia at the café to try and earn Gatria an afternoon off—in secret, of course—though she’d been relieved when the baker had turned her down.

And, something Xambria had never realized she’d enjoy, Hoya was innately *musical*. Most activities she worked on that didn’t require her closest attention included absentminded humming, whatever song she’d been practicing recently. Occasionally she danced around the room while working on activity driven chores like hanging laundry or washing counters. On the rarest occasions, if she thought nobody was listening, she sang to herself quietly as she moved about her work.

So it wasn’t anything terribly extraordinary that had her realize she’d started to love the gnome. Nothing outlandish, no moment of heroism or great sacrifice or risk. In fact, the archeologist could pinpoint the revelation to a precise moment: the first night Hoya had spent in the small apartment she’d finally chosen as a place to call her own.

Hoya had argued endlessly about not needing a home. *I’m a traveler gnome, Xambria*, she’d say nonchalantly, waving a hand to dismiss the concern if they weren’t in public to be overheard, *finding a different place to stay each night is in my blood. You know, I’ve never lived in one place my whole life—and I’m older than you!*

But the tiny gnome was increasingly recognizable in public. Their time working to take down the Thieves Guild was only the tip of an iceberg. In uniform, Hoya was identifiable on sight and even from a distance. After the knighting, people began stopping her on the street. Gnomes weren’t a common sight in Flint to begin with, but with vibrant green hair and skin and bright blue eyes, she was just too distinctive to miss.

And they had argued. *You’ll get hurt,* Xambria had shouted one afternoon, *it’s nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t been hurt yet! Why won’t you try to be more careful?!*

*Nobody’s ever—*

*Not yet,* she had screeched, frustration burning through her like wildfire. *Your safety matters too, Hoya!*

The next morning, the gnome wordlessly set out to find a place to call her own.

She’d picked a small flat just on the outside of the Central District, precariously close to the Nettles. And the first night she’d spent there, she’d laid on the dusty floor in her bed roll, staring up at the ceiling with arms wrapped ‘round herself, and sung quietly, an attempt to ease her rattled nerves. This was a common pastime lately, after the trip to the Bleak Gate and the interaction with the witch oil. Night after night, Xambria just wished she could hold her tiny companion and soothe her enough for a peaceful night's sleep.

After trying and failing to drift off for several hours, Hoya gave up. She pulled her notebook out and began doodling--mostly flowers and leaves, mechanical parts and components of instruments, each she labeled after carefully drawing onto the page. And though she sat and worked, chin in her free hand, Xambria could feel sleep starting to blur Hoya's attention at its sharp edges. The aftermath of the Bleak Gate and Colossus had taught Xambria to focus on the hazy feeling of the gnome starting to become drowsy. Getting her to nod off was a challenge, but she found if she seized control and didn't allow her to get too deep into her activity, Xambria could get her gnome to finally nod off. Usually. It was the best she could do from within, so it simply had to be enough.

She was in control of the small hands drawing in the notebook before she even realized it. Hoya's attention felt far off. Fuzzy, as if it weren't really all there. It was rare to have time to oneself when you shared a single brain; pen in hand, Xambria scribbled a quick line in the notebook and then let herself drift as well.

The next morning Hoya woke face-first in her notebook, lead smudged across her cheek. She still held her pencil in her right hand, as if she'd fallen asleep writing. And she had, if memory served her right. Sitting up and trying to rub sleep from her eyes, she catches a line in handwriting definitely not her own.

*I think I'm in love with you.*