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| − | [Otter] The mistake still smarted.
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| − | [Otter] No matter how she turned it over in the her mind, she had been vastly stupid. So stupid, in fact, that there now might be a war. Now Elk was convinced she was incompetent, she was greatly indebted to the Walrus People, and she had looked in a bronze reflecting glass and realized she looked hideous with her hair chopped shosrt.
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| − | [Otter] She had evened the cut that morning with a knife and her reflection in the water, calling it a mark of respect to Hand-of-Ice, with whom she would treat, rather than simple vanity. She had to redeem- something- for this disaster. So she would.
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| − | [Otter] Was she not the daughter of the Fox and the Bear?
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| − | [Otter] The daughter of Fox-and-Bear slipped out a little past dawn, moving stiffly from the great pain in her chest. She had almost given everything away as she stepped over Sprining Elk, when the stitching pulled the skin tight against the wound. Elk slept with his knife in his hand, his short black hair tangled, and he looked adorable as always, but she didn't stop to admire him. as awalys
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| − | [Otter] Instead she moved swift as a hare, silently as a shadow through the vast trading camp. She pulled her hood low over her face and walked confidently through the Rabbit camp, hoping that was enough to make her unrecognizable.
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| − | [ST] Otter finds the Rabbit camp quiet but in disarray. Deep, angry marks in the mud mark the previous night's hurried pursuit. The totem is no longer atop the pole, but lies beside it, a vague hump covered by a patterend blanket. The Rabbits would not dare raise it in its current state for fear of causing offense.
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| − | [Otter] Unavoidably, her mind dwells on what they likely did to outsiders who despoiled their totem and harmed their chief.
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| − | [Otter] She steps quickly enough past it, glancing at pictures painted on the tents for Hand-of Ice's signs.
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| − | [ST] She finds the tent at last, quiet as the others are, its leather flap tightly closed by a knife thrust to it and into the ground. The same knife that pierced her breast earlier.
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| − | [Otter] Otter grimaces. She reaches down and pulls the knife from the hard ground, then slips inside.
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| − | [ST] In the tent, a pit of hot embers has burned low. A pair of vague shapes wrapped in bedrolls lie on either side of the pit.
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| − | [ST] Sparse hangings cover the walls. Among them, Otter spots her braid, swaying slightly in the wind she has admitted.
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| − | [Otter] Otter tied the tent flaps. She grimaces at her braid. It had taken her a long time to grow- it was intolerable to see it hanging here in home of a warrior of the weakling Rabbit.
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| − | [Otter] She steps lightly forward and glances at the bundled shapes.
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| − | [ST] One is larger than the other - probably two people together, while the other is small, child-sized. As she watches, something shifts within the larger bundle, mumbling
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| − | [Otter] Otter crouches down, her hands on her knees. Belatedly, it occurs to her that she should have brought her spear. Or at least a javelin.
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| − | [Otter] Not that she was much threat when she could barely move. "Hssst," she says quietly. "I need to talk to you."
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| − | [ST] The bundle suddenly unfurls as Hand-of-Ice uncurls, a blade gripped tightly in hand. The edge stops a short distance from her face, quivering, as his wife finishes waking up, blinking in confusion. Apparently he's the lighter sleeper.
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| − | [ST] "Have you come to do in darkness what you could not before the eyes of the tribe?" Hand-of-Ice snaps.
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| − | [Otter] "If I had, I would be armed," she says, glaring at him. "Don't be stupid." She was trying to be a diplomat, but somehow it just slips out.
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| − | [Otter] "I think we have a mutual aim," she says steadily, to all appearances blithe about the knife a few inches from her face.
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| − | [ST] "I could fight her this time, husband," the dark-haired woman offers, levering herself into a sitting position. "Or perhaps our son." As if on cue, the other bundle stirs, and a child of about twelve peers out, curious.
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| − | [ST] "Do we?" Hand-of-Ice asks, with a bit of a chuckle, pulling the blade away from her face.
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| − | [Otter] Otter sneers a little at the woman. She wouldn't take the bait on the insult. She was wiser than that. Her eyes flick back to fix on Hand-of-Ices. "As I think you may have understood, I did not speak entirely candidly yesterday."
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| − | [Otter] "We are seeking Gentle Sparrow and her friend Jonah, yes, but not to aid them. Rather to punish them for desertion. I did not realize how little-loved she is among her tribe."
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| − | [Otter] Now her eyes do flicker for Hand-of-Ice to his wife and then back. She takes in a breath. "I do not think you will be averse to this."
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| − | [ST] "You were direct. Your mouth got you into trouble." But his tone is easy now, that of the assured conqueror. He listens to her response thoughtfully while his son glares at Otter from across the room. "So, she was a treacherous dog to you ravens as well. I am not surprised."
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| − | [Otter] "Your insults were intolerable," she says calmly, longing to hit him. She tamps the anger down. There would be chances enough to put this rabbit in its place. "She was not well-liked among her comrades. Jonah was, however. I still believe there is more to this than you know. She was responding to some news. That did not alter her duty, however, nor ours."
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| − | [Otter] "We are hunting her. You are a strong warrior and know the land here better than we. She has shamed the Rabbit. I wish your help in finding her."
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| − | [ST] "Though we fought, I did not decieve you. She fled as I said, ignoring our war party. If she truly wanted to avenge her mother, she chose poorly. Or as a coward. I suspect she was running to hide behind her father, but he is in no condition to protect her." He mulls over her statement for a moment. "Perhaps you speak sense... but I do not know if it is wise. There are rumors amongst my
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| − | [ST] people that you are responsible for the destruction of our totem."
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| − | [ST] He pauses. "I do not believe them. Were that so, you would never have yielded." He nods towards the braid on the tent wall. "A splendid trophy, it is long since I have earned one of its worth. I thank you for your impetuousness and humility."
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| − | [Otter] Not a flicker of Otter's rage shows on her face, save by her very impassiveness. Would the man gloat over her defeat all his life? Worst, would her braid hang on the tent of the Son-of-a-Cold-Rabbit?
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| − | [Otter] She continues as if he had not spoken, she turns her hands over flat. "I wish it to be clear to all that there is no enmity between your people and ours. These rumors disturb me. In ending the shame of the Rabbit's daughter, I believe they will best be ended."
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| − | [ST] He nods again, smiling that infuriating smile. "Very well. I will aid you in this. I believe she has made for Shamballa Emerald, and her father, but I was ever a good tracker and she a poor one. If we go by elk we should be able to catch them." His wife pulls a face, and he laughs. "Thoughtful Deer dislikes my boasting, but even she will admit I am right. How many will be coming? Just you
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| − | [ST] and your man?"
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| − | [Otter] She was ice-fishing, she reminded herself. "He is not 'my man,' " she said stiffly. "Only my comrade. There is another as well; he is an annoying person, but seems a capable fighter."
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| − | [Otter] "Are there any others you suggest?"
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| − | [ST] "Among the Rabbit there may be better trackers, but they have gone with the war party, or else will not aid you. Unless my wife comes along, it will be only us."
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| − | [ST] "I would not leave our son," Thoughtful Deer says; the boy gives a squawk of indignation.
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| − | [Otter] "That is wise. I think it will be enough." Unless there were Fair Folk, in which case they would always be too few.
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| − | [ST] He seems to read the statement in her eyes. "It should be. Most of the formless ones are away north in the Wyld zones there. Few should find their way south to us."
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| − | [Otter] Otter smiles crookedly, not from genuine feeling but to be amiable. "It is my experience that the Fair Folk are where one least expects them to be. But perhaps you are right." She shakes off her dismals. Munroe chitters teasingly at her from her shoulder. "I would leave here before noon, if that should be enough time to pack and settle your affairs here."
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| − | [ST] "It will be enough. There is little to settle." His wife scowls darkly at him, but cannot avoid the smile for long. "I will join you then."
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| − | [Otter] She cups her hands together in polite thanks. "I am glad," she tells him. "You will find us at the west gathering people." She turns to Thoughtful Deer and inclines her head. "I thank you for the loan of your hunter."
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| − | [ST] The woman cups her hands in return. "May the gods of our tribe and yours favor the journey."
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| − | [Otter] "May the gods bring us success and health," Otter echoes. She climbs to her feet, grimacing slightly as motion pulls at the wound. She supposed she should be grateful for the additional fighter.
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| − | [Otter] She bids the family a brief farewell and tracked through the snow with a lighter heart.
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| − | [Otter] She had done what she came to do, and it would sooth the hurt that might otherwise lay between the Fox-and-Bear and the Rabbit. She grins with elation.
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| − | [Otter] She starts toward to the People of the Walrus, and then changes her mind. She stops a small boy and sends him with the message that she had recruited Hand-of-Ice and now asked more questions in town.
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| − | [Otter] She would start with the Guild. They delivered to Wise Grandmother; therefore, they must know who she was.
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| − | [ST] The Guild does not enjoy a warm welcome at Fort Bear. There are too many bad memories of the time that the Guild tried to rule the League, too many hot-headed tribespeople sweeping in from the Outwall and eager for a fight. To give the Guild a place in town was to endure shame. To put the Guild among the tribes outside it was to invite disaster. Of course, to exclude the Guild entirely was
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| − | [ST] to show madness.
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| − | [ST] Otter finds their encampment in a valley just outside the city, far from where the visiting tribes have camped. Instead of a well appointed trade palace, or even the kind of post they enjoy in Icehome, the Guild presence in Fort Bear is made up solely of their huge wagons. A circle of them, heavily fortified and patrolled by armed and bored sentries, rings a central cluster of
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| − | [ST] double-decker merchant prince wagons.
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| − | [ST] A gap has been left in the protective wall, and Otter walks through it easily. Dogs, shaggy with their winter coats, run wild within the compound. Sullen slaves, ill clothed in ragged jackets, shovel away and pat down snow.
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| − | [Otter] Otter pulls a man in a rich silk coat aside and demands to know who handled correspondence with Icehome.
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| − | [ST] The man pulls back sharply, sniffing slightly, his hand falling to touch a flame piece at his belt. The nearby guards gain a sudden interest.
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| − | [ST] "You would find your answer within," he says, voice flat, "But we do not deal with your sort here. Don't you have one of your reeking orgies to return to? You certainly smell as if you frequently indulge."
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| − | [Otter] Otter hisses, dropping her hand to remember that her in zeal to present an unalarming presence to Hand-of-Ice, she had left unarmed. "You are fortunate indeed that I don't have my knife," she snarls.
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| − | [Otter] "Which wagon?"
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| − | [ST] "The center one," he says with a laugh, pulling away from her. "I'm sure Zeeda could use a good laugh."
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| − | [Otter] With an affronted noise, Otter abandons him, marching to the wagon he had mentioned. "Zeeda!" she calls as she stomps under the steps. "You have information I need."
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| − | [ST] Zeeda is a man, one eyed, enormous, sweating a little even in the relatively cool interior of the wagon. The narrow space is cramped with his desk and his bodyguards, and the entire room smells foully of many pleasant things - sweets, spices, perfumes - packed too tightly. An anemic fire burns at the far end.
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| − | [ST] "Doubtless," the man says with a smile. "But why should I give it?"
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| − | [Otter] "This is the Haslanti League," Otter says coldly. "I am Once Dead, and you are obliged to."
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| − | [ST] "But your Oligarchs are very far," Zeeda says, extending broad hands over his desk. "And I see only one of you. How do you mean to oblige me? I have no interest in women, I fear."
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| − | [Otter] She snaps a piece of paper out of her sleeve and slides it disdainfully across the desk to him.
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| − | [Otter] Only after it is in his hands does it occur to her to hope it doesn't say something on the order of "kill the bearer of this note."
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| − | [ST] "Ah, contact with our erstwhile Icehome chapter, I see." His laugh is brassy. "I suppose I should help in the order of good business. Very well, pay me and I will tell you what you need to know."
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| − | [Otter] "Tell me what I need to know," Otter counters,"and you will find your business goes more smoothly than if you do not."
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| − | [ST] "This one has spirit, Avesh," Zeeda says, slapping a nearby guard on the back. "If she had a cock, I might find her attractive." He laughs again, a rich, booming sound, and then leans across his desk, squinting at her. "Fine, little one. What do you wish to know?"
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| − | [Otter] Otter smiles, triumphant enough in victory she little minded his crudity. "A woman in Icehome, Gentle Sparrow, pays the guild money so that certain, ah, supplies are provided here at Fort Bear to a woman named Wise Grandmother."
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| − | [Otter] She shrugs. "I wish to find this Wise Grandmother."
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| − | [ST] "Ah yes, I remember her. Very fond of Yellow Spite, she was. And not old enough to be a Grandmother. She was a stinking barbarian, wrapped in furs. Young. A little like you, I suppose."
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| − | [Otter] "I don't stink," Otter mutters, stung.
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| − | [Otter] "What did she want the Spite for? Where is she now?"
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| − | [ST] "I do not know." He shrugs, shoulders shifting ponderously beneath his silken clothing. "She was not using it - she showed none of the signs. Perhaps she was a supplier to her people - sometimes you barbarians get a taste for such things. I have not seen her in weeks."
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| − | [Otter] "hmm...." Yes. The 'gutless friend.' "Are there other uses for the drug? Other..things...that desire it?"
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| − | [ST] "It is gathered from flowers in Wyld touched zones," he says. "And it has something of the wyld in it. It gives powerful visions, hallucinations, and often, madness. It is sometimes used to treat Wyld exposure, but it is a cure worse than the disease. I understand it is very addictive."
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| − | [Otter] "Ah...." Otter whispers. She grins. "That's just it! Thank you!"
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| − | [ST] Magnanimous now, Zeeda gives a slight, sardonic bow. "Tell our Icehome friends that they owe me money for this shipment of true ice."
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| − | [Otter] "I will! Thanks again!" Otter promises blindingly, not even bothering to wonder what true ice was. She waves goodbye as runs out the wagon. She wondered if Elk would be impressed that by all she had found out, and that she had gotten Hand-ofIce to help htem.
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| − | -----
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| − | [ST] The sun has just crested the tops of the assembled aghars by the time Hand-of-Ice arrives there, taking his time as he checks the packs strapped to his riding elk. Around him, the camps are beginning to stir with morning prayers, shouted arguments, and lovemaking. Smoke wafts into the air from a thousand cookfires; tantalizing scents intermingle freely. Hand-of-Ice tests his straps, and
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| − | [ST] raises his head to grunt in welcome as Elk approaches, laden with the supplies Otter instructed him to pick up in Icehome.
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| − | [Otter] Otter comes trotting up next, half out of breath. She lives half out of breath, it seems. She tugs on a string of riding elk of her own, borrowed from the Walrus for promises of favorable deals next spring.
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| − | [Otter] She grins at Elk, as though to say, "Haven't I done well?"
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| − | [ST] Hand-of-Ice finishes the last of his preparations, strapping a many-fluted horn to the rump of his elk. He swings himself up solidly into the saddle. Elk raises an eyebrow at her, but grumbles less than he might at the sight of his namesake.
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| − | [Fish] Fish glowers from the side, waiting impatiently for them to be off. He'd never ridden elk before, used to travelling by ship of some sort or sled at worst. He was not looking forward to the experience.
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| − | [Otter] Elk and Otter have a low-voiced but vociferous discussion about how to distribute the supplies, which ends when Hand-of-Ice interposes a few words about elks' carrying capabiltiies. The packs are settled, strapped on, and Otter mounts as fluidly as she can, which is to say: not very.
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| − | [Otter] She leans forward and strokes her elk's neck, murmuring something in a low voice. Possibly something along the lines of 'have mercy.'
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| − | [ST] "Any dreams to share?" Hand-of-Ice says tersely, as he slaps the rump of his elk to get it started.
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| − | [Otter] "I dreamed I was a mountain spring," Otter says cheerfully enough, urging hers until it follows his. "But only blood flowed from me and spattered those who gathered around to drink."
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| − | [Fish] Fish slouches over the back of his elk, bouncing around like their gear, but less well secured. The elk seemed to like it as little as he, although after a time he learned how to ride its motion at least as far as not hurting himself or falling off.
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| − | [ST] "A dreamed of a wolf, howling in the darkness," Hand-of-Ice offers. "And of my wife, but that is hardly unusual."
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| − | [ST] "I don't remember dreaming," Elk says quietly.
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| − | [Otter] Otter makes a face at him. He rarely remembered dreaming. She didn't disbelieve him, but still...it was almost cheating.
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| − | [Otter] "What about you, Fish?"
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| − | [Fish] A flat smile. "I dreamed of a woman I knew before I died." He massages the stump of his amputated finger. He hoped the ring was still around it, somewhere on the sea floor.
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| − | [Fish] "I suspect it was anything but prophetic," he adds with bleak humor.
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| − | [Otter] Otter straightens in her saddle, looking at him with open curiosity. She opens to her mouth to ask, but somehow, just then, her elk stumbles, rattling her bones.
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| − | [ST] "The first day's journey will not be difficult," Hand-of-Ice calls back. "Not even for you Greenfielders. We'll be traveling through the Fort Bear Greenfield for some distance west, as far as the big stones, and then we will turn and bear south, into the herdlands. From
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| − | there, two days' travel to the Emerald, perhaps more. They have a lead on us."
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| − | [ST] He turns in the saddle, smiling to reveal a several missing teeth. "But the day I can't catch up to a eunuch and a Greenfielder's whore is the day I walk into the snows to die."
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| − | [Fish] He returns a sour smile. Peevishly, he wishes again that he had shot the man when he'd had a chance. Of course, then Elk and Otter would be dead, and he would have to return to Iceholm in failure. Well, he cared little for this mission anyway, and he could ahve just pinned it on Otter's leadership. But comrades were comrades, and he didn't like to betray them so easily.
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| − | [ST] "Rises-with-the-Sun must be with them as well. My cousin's child. But she was no great hunter, and her coddling of Sparrow shows her weakness."
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| − | [Otter] "Why did she go with them? Old friends?"
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| − | [Otter] Rises-with-the-Sun? Not Wise Grandmother. Well. She was lucky she hadn't shared her discovery in such terms, then.
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| − | [ST] "Yes, they were close in their youth. Rises-with-the-Sun refused to speak ill of her, even when she abandoned her mother and father."
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| − | [Otter] "Is a person known as "Wise Grandmother" known to you? Yellow Spite- a treatment of Wyld-poisoning- was shipped to her at great cost to Rabbit."
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| − | [Otter] She supposed it was likely a psuedonym. Who named their child Wise Grandmother?
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| − | [ST] "I know no such woman. But Rises-with-the-Sun was often among the Guildsmen. She had a taste, they say, for soft Greenfielder things. A shame what the youth are coming to these days. My own son will be better raised." He turns the lead elk off the beaten track onto a narrower footpath, winding west and downwards into a gentle valley. On either side of the road, herds of elk graze through a
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| − | [ST] thin layer of snow. Behind the travelers, the hill on which Fort Bear is nestled rises, the sacred fire burning bright in the stone bear's mouth.
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| − | [ST] "When I think of the disgrace Crimson Bear endured from his daughter... when my own father grew ill, I cared for him for a season, then helped him to march out into the cold, as is proper. A chieftain such as Sparrow's father deserved better."
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| − | [Otter] Otter has long since pegged him as being in the same mold as one of her own cousins, and nods wisely. "I am surprised that no kinsman acted to prevent such an outrage. Who could look on an elder walking out without shame, when their own sickling kin were at home?"
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| − | [ST] "The kind of quarry we chase," Hand-of-Ice says tightly. "The kind of quarry who can offend even Greenfielders' lose and debauched morals."
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| − | [Otter] Fox-and-Bear customs were not quite the same, but Otter knew how those in the low valleys below felt. Her own people were wiser, to keep those who were old home and occupied with weaving, medicine, and other tent crafts the healthy woud chafe at.
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| − | [Otter] "No aunts or uncles?"
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| − | [ST] "No. Theirs was a brave line, save a few exceptions, frequently raiding into the Wyld where others balked. But you know the wise saying... the higher one climbs, the harder the fall." He scoffs.
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| − | [Otter] Otter nods, and prudently allows the subject to drop.
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| − | [ST] For the rest of the day, the Once Dead and their guide travel through the Fort Bear Greenfield, moving up and down rolling valleys, through skeletal orchards, herds of elk, and snowed over fields. Several times, they pass the shuttered winter-houses of Greenfield farmers and herdfolk alike. They pass a number of travellers on the road, mostly people of the Outwall heading in the other
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| − | [ST] direction. Hand-of-Ice questions them briefly and sharply for news, and gets little. A many-headed goat is said to be roaming the countryside. Fairy-lights have been seen in the north. A storm is gathering to blow in. The Ferret Tribe has been raided by Icewalkers not
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| − | allied with the League...
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| − | [ST] No news is certain, and less of it is useful.
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| − | [ST] Hand-of-Ice pushes the animals hard - the relatively well-mantained roads of the Greenfield are a good place to make up time on the others. The company eats cold rations in the saddle, and presses on even after night falls, camping within sight of the Greenfield's sheltering cliffs in a hastily assembled aghar that Elk remembered to pack. A dusting of snow falls, but it's next to nothing -
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| − | [ST] only an inch or two.
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| − | [Otter] Otter is quieter than her ordinairy custom. She pales and grits her teeth over every other bump in the road, and once or twice glares at Hand-of-Ice's back.
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| − | [Otter] Once she has kindled the fire and swallowed enough cold rations to consider it a dinner, she curls up in her furs.
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| − | [Fish] Fish slumps in the saddle, riding in silent pain. Age magnified all the aches and pains, and he was fast learning exactly why everyone who wasn't some idiot tribesman preferred to travel by ship.
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| − | [Fish] Of course, he smiles sourly to himself, he was probably better off than Otter. Her wound hadn't torn half open yet, but it couldn't be happy with the long, jouncing ride.
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| − | [ST] The next morning finds the elks and the dismounted riders carefully picking their way up the roads that wind up the Greenfield's wall, transformed to icy ramps overnight. Once atop them, they strike out south through the familiar herdland, a country of yellowing grasses, drifts of snow, and tiny, stunted evergreens. The elks walk carefully, avoiding treacherous rocks buried in the snow. Elk
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| − | [ST] and Hand-of-Ice avoid the worst of the drifts, but there are times which find the animals struggling through snow that almost reaches their chests.
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| − | [Fish] Once they were off the Greenfield pasturage, he kept an eye out for food, though few animals were willing to stay near active trails. Still, he did manage to shoot some meat for them all.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Hand-of-Ice seems utterly unfazed, joking and laughing from time to time, especially when the others stumble or trip. However, he helps as well, pointing out animals for Fish to shoot and stopping Elk from stepping off into a snowy ravine even his eyes don't spot. A bitter, howling wind assails the travellers, and their breath fogs and threatens to freeze in their lungs. No one but the
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Haslanti could bear such weather.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The second night is much less hospitable than the first, the howling wind threatening to tear away the aghar even though it is firmly staked in the lee of a hill, and lifting the tent flap to stab icy fingers at the sleepers. A watch must be kept as well, for this is hostile country.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Discussion around the small fire that the tent shelters is guarded that night - Elk in particular doesn't seem too impressed with Hand-of-Ice's long, winding boasts of how his grandfather plucked a crystal apple from a Wyld tree. Lines of deep fatigue are etched in his face.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] The wind, at least, was kinder than he remembered. They were in broken country, and the wind was broken with it, nothing near so bad as when it howled across frozen water. Still, he kept his sealskins well treated and layered, and rubbed fat over his face for their night rides, to keep the wind off his skin. No sense in losing his nose out to save himself from stinking.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "If only it would stop snowing, we'd know for sure if we were on their trail," Elk complains, his voice leaden.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "If only my aunt had balls, boy, she'd be my uncle," Hand-of-Ice returns, stirring a pot of thin stew that bubbles over the fire.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "We know where they're going." Otter says with a confidence she didn't feel. In truth, she longed for them all to be still and quiet.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But she had to be upbeat, especially if no one else was.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Don't know why they're going, though," Elk says. "Why go back to her father now?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "He's gotten worse. Or gotten better. Whatever was in that letter. I don't suppose it really matters." It would all end the same way. It comes out bleaker than Otter intended.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yeah," Elk says softly. "I guess either way... we're bringing them back."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] He stares into the flickering flames.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The next day it grows even colder, and as the group continues to swing south, it begins to snow, slowly and steadily, fat flakes that obscure vision and chill exposed skin. Even the elk look miserable in the biting wind. Hand-of-Ice chooses a path carefully through the difficult landscape, but travel soon becomes utter, painful drudgery. At what must be noon, but is scarcely brighter
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] than twilight, he calls a halt atop a rise, shouting to be heard over the howling wind. "Look!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] He points at a spot sheltered from the snow by a rock outcropping - the remains of a fire are there, along with something small, black, and metallic.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter sits up in the saddle. "Hah!" she exclaims, then winces at the pull on her wounds. She urges her elk toward it, though at a careful, steady pace.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Once Otter rides over to the thing, it's easy enough to make out - the metal skull badge of the Once Dead, dropped (or placed?) here fairly recently.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He tries to urge his mount to a faster pack, but either he isn't doing it properly, or his mount had gotten used to not listening to him. Perhaps he'd teach it later. "How many travel this way during this season?" They'd seen few, and from Hand-of_ice's reaction, he certainly thought they had found spoor of their quarry.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She shakes her head almost sadly. She wondered if it were a decoy to mislead pursuit. It likely didn't much matter- they would have to guess it was not.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Not many, aside from war parties," Hand-of-Ice says in response to Fish. He steps up to the edge of the rise they are on, which sweeps majestically downward at his feet and gives a commanding view of the countryside. A grove of spindly evergreens lies some distance to the west. A stream, frozen solid, winds through the copse of trees. Perhaps half a mile ahead, another rise marks the
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] landscape, marked by the cut of a sharp defile visible even through a shrouding of snow. It looks to be a difficult climb.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "It's too cold. Man's like to freeze to death out here if he's not careful. Even the elk prefer the Greenfields this time of year."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Tell me about it," Elk mumbles. Dark circles have formed beneath his eyes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter lifts the badge. "It was them. Or they're deliberating setting a red mockbird loose." She looks at Elk in concern. Her head pounded. She supposed she knew what was wrong.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He grunts. True enough. And the badge was clear evidence. "They were here, or a friend of theres is laying a trail for us. Might be we should be careful in that notch - good place to watch for us and give welcome."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Might be," Hand-of-Ice offers. "Badge like that is a hell of a thing to leave behind... but I wouldn't put it past Sparrow to drop such a thing."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "There's something in the clouds!" Otter blurts out.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] "They've been rutheless enough so far. THey know they can never go back. He'll, near killed some of us with the last thing they left behind, can't imaging they'd be too sentimental to drop this." He fingers the badge. "Especially Jondar."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "Something moving- spots of light-" her heart begins to pound.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] The flash of sunlight caught his eye too. Of course the sun wasn't anywhere near there in the sky. "Airship? Something metal, or ice, shiny anyway."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I see it too..." Elk begins, shading his eyes. "But I don't know... snowflies mating, maybe? Isn't this that time of year...?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] "Shit." Too many and too widespread to be one thing. "Theres metal falling there. Has to be a Murder Storm." If it was rolling their way, they'd have to find cover. The defile looked a lot safer now.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Hand-of-Ice at last notices the others talking and snaps his head up to look.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "A Murder Storm." It certainly sounded bad.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Shit!" He snaps. "It's definitely coming this way - and fast." Very fast. The shapes of individual weapons are visible now, if vague, whipped around on winds into a typhoon of steel. A scant few miles away, daggers and swords are falling.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He whips his head around, trying to find shelter closer. But he didn't remember any bigger than scrub.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Whatever we do, it needs to be fast," Hand-of-Ice says, staring up at the approaching storm
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "We have to run to the defile," Otter says, calm as ice. "Cut loose the packs. If we live, we can collect them later."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She fits deeds to word, slashing the packs off her elk. She had considered the stream- hiding beneath the elk- but she had become secretly fond of hers, in spite of its penchent for jolting her over the landscape.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She waits long enough to be sure the others were moving, sets her teeth against the pain, and hollers her elk into a run.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] His ice chisel is in his hands before she finishes speaking. Finally a decision that he agreed with. No time to play with the elk's sensibilities, he dug the flat head of the chisel into the buck's hindquarters, holding on tightly. If it didn't run for him now it would feel worse soon enough, so the stupid thing better run rather than bucking him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The wall of weapons looms closer. Individual ones are visible to the sharp-eyed now. Here, a row of knives chained together, there, a curved halbert, there, a spiked mace, there, a chopping sword, there... They wink dully in the faint sunlight, sliding around and over each other like a boiling nest of maggots. A knife falls nearby and lands in the earth, quivering, like the first flake of snow
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] in a blizzard.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The elk lurch down the slope, snorting, rolling their eyes in terror. Fish's scarcely notices the wound on its flank - it is driven by the smell of something much more frightening and painful: utter chaos
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He gives up slicing the thing, it seemed to be as scared as he was. He yelled himself horse along with the rest though, hoping that he might spur it further, or amuse the gods enough to let him live.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The Once Dead race across the snow, the Elk struggling wildly, threatening to bolt at any moment. An errant gust of wind sends a wickedly curved scythe spinning between Otter and Hand-of-Ice's mounts, whistling shrilly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The elk fan out, pulling frantically, frothing at the mouths and nostrils as they push themselves. Javelins fall around the Once Dead, quivering. Ahead, the rise looms closer, the sheltering walls of the defile quite clear now. It's just as well, as the storm is almost upon them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] His elk almost runs headlong into the wall of rising earth. It lunges to the left at the last moment, head twisting as its spread of antlers clips the rock, smacking them into Fish. He rolls off in a heap, landing hard. He doesn't care, or slow, but crawls ignominiously into the shadow of the rock.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Fish sees that the defile cuts very deeply back into the rock indeed, though the cut is very narrow. It's going to be a squeeze even for him, and the beast certainly won't fit. Otter and Hand-of-Ice arrive only moments later, their animals so maddened they can barely get them to stop. An iron rain falls all around, an axe glancing off a rock near Fish's hand before flying away over
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Otter's shoulder.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He tries to guess which side of the notch would be leeside to the storm.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "Where's Elk?" Otter asks, panting.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She glances behind her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk is bringing up the rear, pushing his beast hard. He has to duck low in his saddle as a knife whizzes by, but the movement slows his mount. The elk gives a sudden scream, quickly choked by gore as a sword enters the side of its throat. It races on for a few steps, heedless, before flopping on its side, pinning Elk beneath it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Belatedly, he looks up, trying to see if the others made it, if his elk had died twisting its neck, and most importantly if there had been an ambush waiting for them here. Thoroughly spolied though it might be, this would not be a good time to face enemies.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter screams.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "I'm getting Elk!" she shouts to Fish over the scream of the wind. "Stay inside!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Don't be a fool, girl!" Hand-of-Ice shouts. He lunges for her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "Let go!" she shrieks as he holds her back. "He's so close- I can get him, I can-"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He follows her instructions, although that was only coincidental. He does fish out his crossbow, and shoots Elk's elk through the head. It was thrashing about dying slowly. Kicking hooves and flailing antlers would onlt be anotehr danger, and that much harder to get free of.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Hand-of-Ice's desperate lunge catches at Otter's ankle, pulling her down to the ground with him. His grip is like iron as she batters at his face. Spiked maces fall around them with a deafening din as they smash off the rocks. "I didn't spare your life to see you throw... ungh... it... away!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk rolls away from the elk carcass, struggling to stand. A knife bounces off the shoulder guard of his armor, disappearing into the snow. He takes a few lurching steps forward in the middle of the iron storm.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She's weak as a kitten, and her struggles cease. "I can't let him die," she says in a soft voice. Hand-of-Ice did not know her well, had never reckoned with her when her will had crossed.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] He mistakes her very acquiesence for surrender. So when he loosens his grip, he is not prepared for her to shoot like a loosed arrow from his arms into the defile.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "He may not," the man says. "But you can't throw away your life like- damn you!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Cursing loudly, the man rolls over and lunges into the narrow crevice, forcing Fish deeper inside. One of the elk gives out a terrible cry as a falling spear pierces it through the eye, pinning its head to the earth.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk frantically waves Otter away as he staggers through the rain of steel.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Munroe's little feet dig painfully into her shoulders as she springs to Elk. She should have left him with Jek, she thinks. Hatchets clatter to either side. She grabs his arm and pulls him, even as she feels a pain in her front that could be her wound reopening.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Together, the two race through sheets of falling metal. Elk has to hurtle the haft of a polearm to keep from tripping. Air rasps painfully in their lungs as the defile approaches. Safety.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] A sword spins sideways through the air, hurled by the ferocious winds, slicing open the back of his neck. Otter catches him and pushes him with her into the defile. He lands winded on his back with Otter collapsed on top of him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "Gods," she moans.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "You... damn... idiot," he hisses in her ear, pinned beneath her. Outside, the animals scream in horror and pain as the weapons find them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] "Fucking fool," he yells at her. "How deep is it." He doesn't move from his huddle against the rock, cradling his crossbow to his chest. If something caught its string, the arms might get damaged from the released tension. And he would need a weapon if they were to do anything other than return to Icehome immediately in failure.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Is she always like this?" Hand-of-Ice says in a bemused tone. In the darkness, it's unclear exactly where he is.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Not that they would be lacking for weapons.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "I am just fine," Otter says with satisfaction. The words are punctuated by heaving gasps for air. "And so is Elk."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] It occurs to her a moment later that he might have broken bones when his elk fell on him, so she runs her hands over his legs and arms with quick anxiety, careless of his modesty.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Can't say the same for the animals..." Hand-of-Ice says. Their screaming, at least, has stopped.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He calms down slightly, and reches into a pouch foir a flask. This might take time, and there was nothing they could do. Pure luck now, might as well drink. "This is the sixth time this has happened to me," he says, perfectly straight. He passes flciks the flask on to the man after taking a hard swallow, not wanting to risk his arm handing it across the narrow notch.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "No," Otter agrees, their horrific shrieks cutting through her faint fog of happiness.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She rolls of Elk so he could get up. "Damned bad luck." Though not that bad- they had all lived. Munrue licks the back of her neck.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk protests Otter's ministrations less than he might. He seems to have not suffered any severe harm.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Any idea how long this'll last?" Hand-of-Ice asks. He leans back against the rock, looking distrustfully at the Greenfielder's flask for only a moment before taking a swallow. For him, it is almost accomodating.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] "The thing's made of chaos, no telling how long it feels like raining."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Maybe it'll do our job for us," Elk says, taking the flask from hand-of-ice, downing a swallow, and passing it to Otter.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She takes a swig and passes it back up to Fish. "Thanks," she says blithely.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "We can't count on it. But we'll need to be alert for vultures now as well."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] This storm, it turns out, is brief. After only a few minutes, the rain of steel begins to taper off. The last dagger lands with a metallic ring, and a few moments later the Once Dead emerge again into the light, stepping over a small hill of weapons. The sight is impressive - metal weapons litter the landscape almost as far as the eye can see, as if the combatants in some huge battle simply
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] threw their arms down wildly and walked away.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He takes a short sip, and recaps it, much to Elk's dissappointment, from the look on his face. It was expensive stuff, more than he was willing to let on, and he wanted to have some saved for the next hopelessly boring life-or-death situation.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter grimaces at her poor elk. An axe had nearly beheaded it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Amidst the tangle of weapons like the ruined forms of the elks, completely pulped, reduced to shapeless hunks of meat. Elk gives a groan as he looks at his.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "This is bad," he says. "The bags are shredded. The rations are ruined."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] They have been finely minced, mixed with the gore and offal from the creature that carried them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Hand-of-Ice roams the mess, finally stopping to pick up an elegantly worked steel hatchet and slide it into his belt. He looks down at the ruins of his animal with the closest anyone has seen him to regret.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] The animals were a lost cause. He walks carefully out into the open, this not being the time to slip and fall, and begins to sift through the fallen weapons, curious. Were they all taken from one place? Did traditional or foriegn weapons predominate. Did it rain weapons of any kind, or just things that would kill when they fell? He hadn't noticed any bows or staves falling, but he hadn't been looking too closely.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "This was part of Thoughtful Deer's bride-gift," he says.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Besides, maybe he'd find something worth keeping.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "The packs we left back at the outcropping may have been sheltered by the overhang. Even if the bags are ruined, we can rig something from one of my cloaks." They'd be warmer anyway as they started walking.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter looks at Hand-of-Ice sympathetically, but continues. "We can dig snow-homes in the evening. Hunt once we're out of the range of the storm." It would slow them down immensely.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Fish's exploration must be limited - there are just too many weapons to tell exactly. Weapons of all varieties seem to have fallen, though no bows are among them. He does find the occasional bolt, mostly in a familiar style. The only thing the weapons seem to have in common is that they all are edged or spiked in some way.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Nothing particularly useful. He picks up a crazy looking blade, or collection of blades really, all attached to a hilt. Whatever it was, it was meant to cut people up. He slips it into his pack, a memento rather than anything he thought he could use.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk nods at Otter's suggestion and moves to investigate the packs. Hand-of-Ice kneels by the remains of his elk, digging through the mess of flesh.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "There's one thing here we better take with us," he says, lifting out the strange horn-like thing he strapped to his animal earlier. "It-"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] And then, the thing in his hands emits a long, mournful call. It reminds Fish of the whales that sometimes breach the surface of the Great Ice.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] "We might try to cut away some of the elk meat. We can eat some of it, surely." Would be hell to cook and eat, all mashed and randomly sliced, no way they could cook it evenly. But it was better than nothing.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Hand-of-Ice staggers back as the thing makes a sound, going as pale as milk. It is the first time he has ever seemed truly frightened.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "What?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "It's..." He stops, gathering himself visibly. His hands tremble. "It's a charm. A Wyld-watch. It calls out when the Wyld is near... and I've never heard it call so loudly." He turns to gaze north, where the clouds that birthed the murder storm continue to gather.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "That's Wyldfog. We have to move, now."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter nods. Her sides screamed and the wound in her chest was a constant ache, but he was right. Maybe it wasn't so bad the packs were shredded. "Right. Then lets go. You choose the terrain." She glances at the clouds.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] "On foot? We can't outrun the weather." And Wyldfog wasn't the kind of thing that stopped moving when the wind died. He grimaces.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "We'd best try."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter picks up a pair of javelins laying crossed on the ground and slides them into the bundle with the others on her back.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk returns in time to hear the news, laden with the only pack remaining. There is no more time for talk. The four head south, as quickly and as recklessly as possible. Hand-of-Ice leads them along the path of least resistance, through copses of trees where the snow lies thin, down the banks of frozen streams, until his breath is rasping in his ears, his heart thundering in his chest.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter doesn't complain. Won't complain. Won't slow down. But she is alarmingly aware of how fast she is running out of energy. Every movement is full of pain now, and the adrenalin seems to have warn off because she feels it. She catches herself wondering if it would be so bad, to just lay down and be enveloped by the fog.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She would die- worst than die- and her tribe would have no future chief, but...would it be so bad?
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She stumps on, face pale and drawn. Her breaths are not gasps now, so much as whimpers.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Fish lurches along behind, keeping up with the other younger fleeing dead, but only barely. The years were weighing on him. But he was alive still, for now, for however long he had left. There was too much time for panick, a hard long slog. Instead, he wondered if he should have died long ago, or really whether he should ahve died more thoroughly. He had betrayed a lot of friends, and he was still running from it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Betrayed them and failed, or he would still be on his first life.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Snow begins to lash down, reducing the others to nothing but vague shapes in the swirl of flakes. Pushing through the drifts causes muscles to burn, legs to cramp. Hand-of-Ice staggers on ahead, but he is no longer clearing a path so much as he is running, running for his life. Elk staggers beside Otter, his gloved hand slipping into her own and squeezing tightly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The flakes of snow are soft, downy, warm - no, not snow, but feathers, pearlescent and white, chased with red. A welter of smells dances on the air - blood, vomit, cooking meat, sex, the smell of boiling rats screaming, the sound of fresh-baked bread, the-
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The Wyld presses in, whispering, tempting.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He grits his teeth, ignoring what he can, dodging round what he can't, and tries to run faster. No long slog now, he was starting to gasp too out of breath to do anythign but suck great mouthfuls of air and bloody feathers in.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The chill blizzard sweeps across the Once Dead, begging them to change, but they resist, staggering on through the drifts of snow as the storm eddies around them. Elk squeezes Otter's hand more tightly for a moment, and then the pulling, warping sensation is gone.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Come on," Hand-of-Ice calls back. "We have to keep going! I think we're almost out of it!" His eyes are open wide in terrified astonishment. All three of them. An extra has sprouted on his left cheek, staring milkily back at the others.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He presses on, trying not to spit up the bile rising in his throat. He didn't think he had any extra eyes - you'd see it, in a way, wouldn't you? But nothing around him made sense, so he couldn't know. Hopefully he wazsn't carrying anything new that he couldn't cut out later.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] The chill that sweeps through Otter brings her tired trot back up to the run. A quick glance at Elk assures her he is whole. At least to the eye.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The storm continues to rage, but it is, it seems, now nothing but a storm. Ahead, there is a warm glow of light, a slight depression in the earth, a thick stand of trees far too sturdy for the herdlands.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Shamballa?" Hand-of-Ice says in wonder. "But... we weren't that close. Surely..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "Perhaps the Wyld swept us closer." Or perhaps a Fair Folk even now whispered lies and delusions in their ears.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "Hand-of-Ice, wait," Otter calls out.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She drags one weary last spurt of speed and grabs onto his arm.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] "Don't fucking care what it is, long as we can rest," he tries to say. It comes out more choked, and paused by wheezing. If he'd just taken up eating a proper Haslanti breakfast, his heart would have given up on him in mercy long ago.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] The man stops, turning back to face her. The eye on his cheek blinks lazily. The iris, she notices, is the pink of raw meat.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "What now, woman?"
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter's stomach almost revolts. She clamps down. "Elk, make a fire, please."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk nods, moving to a nearby clump of sickly trees. They squeal slightly as he snaps the dead branches from their trunks. Blood bubbles up, sliding down the trunks. The Wyld has touched this land, perhaps more heavily than it has touched Hand-of-Ice.
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She bites her lip. "There's a slight Wyld-defect on your face," she says calmly. "We need to erase it before you are present yourself outside the wilderness."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "What are you on about?" the tribesman asks, annoyed. "The Emerald lies just ah-" He stops at her words, reaching up, his hands touching the eye. His face goes white, and when he speaks, it is only in a whisper.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "No."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] He sinks to his knees, body already heaving with sobs. "Away from me! Now! I would not spread the taint onward..."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk returns, his arms laden with slowly bleeding wood. "I saw an aghar nearby," he says quietly. "There's a fire inside."
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| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Fish staggers up, and seeing Hand-of_Ice's face, loses the control of his stomach that he'd held through the Wyldfog and the run, puking violently and then choking on it as he gasps for breath. He slumps against a tree, ignoring the way it gave under his hand's pressure.
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "You will not be tainted long," Otter says ruthlessly. "We will purify you of it."
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Probably the Rabbit People, or at least stalwarts like Hand-of-Ice, regarded this as cheating, but to Otter it was only sense. Hand-of-Ice was (temporarily) her hunter, and she did not lose them lightly.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Don't be a fool, woman," he says, returning to contempt as if it gives him strength. He glares up at her with his two real eyes. "There can be no purification. That is only the part of the taint you can see."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I am a dead man."
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter is silent. Perhaps this was true. But she didn't want it to be. She does not speak of his wife or his chlid; these were greater reasons for him not to return home, from his perspective.
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "As are we all," she says quietly.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "You are unmarked," he says, bitterly. "You must carry the message to them when I do not return."
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| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Fish pushes off the tree, finally having caught his breath. He wipes tiredly at the mess in the scruff around his mouth. "Want us to finish it, rather than run and die in the wilderness?"
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I will finish guiding you," he says firmly. "Then I will die how I choose." He stands, wiping away the tears that course down his face... but only on one cheek.
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She had meant only that they were of the Once Dead, but she takes his hands in hers and looks him in the eyes. "I thank you. And I grieve for you."
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Her gaze flicks to Elk. "Were there people at the aghar?"
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] He slips something off his wrist - a leather thong, bearing a small totem, and presses it into Otter's hand. "Give this to her when you return. She will know what it means."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk is unable to look at the afflicted man. "I couldn't see... just shadows, and a fire. But I think I heard someone inside."
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "I will. I promise." She turns to Elk. "'Then go and borrow a branch." She wished no shame on Hand-of-Ice from others witnessing his affliction.
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| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He looks around, worried. With their luck, they would be delivered to their enemies. "We should find out who is there before they notice us."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk stops as Fish mentions this. "Fish... may be right..."
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Otter nods slowly. "Then the two of you ought to go and find out. I will stay with Hand-of-Ice." She did not think he was in any state to be left alone, and neither Fish nor Elk seemed to have much influence over him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I'm not a child to be coddled, woman," Hand-of-Ice protests with a bit of his old strength. "I'm going to have a look at this Emerald."
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] "Not until it has been burned away," Otter says implacably, with fire of her own. "It could prejudice our mission."
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| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He doesn't look back, glad to be away from the man, from the reminder of what they had, hopefully, avoided. He hesitantly runs a hand over his coat, afraid to find something, but if he had changed, he hadn't enough to feel through his sealskins.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He stalks carefully through the woods, bow out, and Elk alongside. Both glad to be away, and to have something to concentrate on.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk leads Fish towards the stand of trees where he gathered the firewood, and soon enough, he sees the aghar as well, a squat struture flickering with illumination within. Shadows dance along its sides, and the soft sound of voices emerge from within.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He motions Elk to stop, and stops himself as well, straining to hear what was being said.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] His brow draws down, puzzled. He waves at Elk to keep hims till, and creeps forward slowly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] As he draws near, Fish can see the shadows moving in the tent more clearly. Definitely human in shape, but they seem to be moving oddly, rising and falling, distorting as they do.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] Closer, and still nothing that can be made out, not words. Moans, or something like it. He'd have to make the window. He hesitates between distrust of Elk, and caution - not wanting to go to the building without a knife guarding his back.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk stares back, solid, and at least not obviously broken by the Wyld
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He waves the lad forward, and then moves himself. The tentflap beckoned.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Elk creeps forward as if he is stalking an animal, moving on the balls of his feet, body bent low. The strange sussuration of sounds in the tent continues, louder now that the two men are closer, but still as incomprehensible.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] He sneaks to the tentflap, crouching low, then prostrates himself, edging a finger under the bottom edge and slowly, slowly edging it upward. Just enough for an eyeful.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] At first, Fish might be inclined to feel relief. THe tent isn't furnished at all save for a rug, and atop that rug are a naked man and woman, rather more occupied with each other than with him. That is, until he notices that the man is Elk, and the woman Otter, that the moans are not coming from their mouths, for they have none, but from the very air within the tent, sweltering and hotter
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] than any fire could ever be.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] And then, with a cracking of vertebrae, Otter's head turns all the way backwards to stare at the flap. Elk's legs and arms unhinge, bending back on themselves, and the thing - for that is what it is, not two things but one, an awful mimic, rises up on its haunches. The tent tears away with a sudden sound, lashing up behind the creature, resolving into a pair of membraneous wings.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] As Fish watches, the Otter-thing's back shifts and his own torso emerges from it, as if birthed. He stares into his own face as the air moans and groans.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Fish] HE closes his eye, scared, shocked. But keeps himself enough together to not drop the flap, ready to lower it, thinking,a fter the shock, to back away carefully and then shoot the shapes with his bow until they were dead, and then burning it without letting anyone else see. But the moment of shock, of hesitation, cost him. And he was staring up at the monster from the ground.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yes," the thing says from the mouths it does not have. Behind Fish, Elk screams in horror.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yes."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yes."
| |
