Ophelia Fisher
Ophelia Fisher keeps her hands busy and her mind slow. She does not want to think about the first few hours when they arrive in the city; going door to door, meeting lots of new people quickly, the wearing down of an unpolished first impression, the people she cannot take with her as she is bundled into some residence. It is only temporary, and she has arrangements- something rare and so coveted among the travellers that she wishes she could break it into pieces and share it like bread. It’s divided down as far as it can already though, with Isaac and Bartholemew taking their piece. The journey should be the hardest part, but Ophelia dreads the restless waiting in Leeds, the uncertain days or weeks suspending all of her goodbyes.
Luckily there is much to do. Oberon and Olivia enjoyed vast quantities of the Toasty Mink’s stores before they left, and the consequences of each cup have caught up with the walking party. Eliza walks ahead with their sisters, and Jane and John up ahead of them, while Bartholemew and Lydia have fallen behind. Ophelia flits between them, happy to be waylaid by any other townspeople that require help, or an extra pair of hands to pull them through the mud. More commonly Ophelia provides help people cannot ask for; there is not one walker who does not mourn something tonight. It is easier shepherding the grieving than working through the stilted conversation offered by her parents.
Though accounted for as the group left town, it becomes a matter of urgency for Ophelia to find Isaac, who has managed to evade the rest of the family for a considerable time. Wandering between groups becomes running, and in the dark Ophelia can’t recognise the people she’s searched. Suddenly the walking party is infinite and inescapable, pressing around Ophelia and smothering her; pain blossoms from her head wound and the air is too warm to breathe. Her siblings are far ahead or far behind, too far to call for help. Little Avoning parts around her and presses forward towards the city that will not welcome her, to try and dig new roots into earth salted against her. Ophelia is being left behind.
Severed from the echoes and half blind to the world everyone else inhabits, Ophelia has been left behind. Abandoned to grief by parents who mourned in another language, forcing the dirt of the graveyard to nourish growth with her own fists. Even Lady Death slipped away into a space Ophelia herself can’t follow, though she stands watch at the door for the sake of her town’s strangers. Now she has wandered too far and might not catch up again, and isn’t it her responsibility to stay on the periphery of her sibling’s sight?
“We’re falling behind, dear.” Isaac’s hands fold over her shoulders, holding her steady. “Do you need to stop?”
They wait together while the pain ebbs away and the air becomes cool enough to breathe. Ophelia shakes her head.
“I’m fine, grandfather. We should try and catch up.”
“We’re going somewhere different from them anyway, dear. And we’ll find them again eventually.”
Ophelia shakes her head more resolutely.
“No. I will find them now. We have to keep up with them.”
As the pair crest the next hill they are met with a small party of Fishers- Marybelle, Lydia and Bartholemew among them- waiting.