Dahozhoni Meadow arco

@Eset to join, visibility for @Soto

the moonlight painted the meadow in silver, a pale glow brushing over the tips of wild grasses as saya crouched in the shadows of the brush. her sac, carefully crafted and slung over her slender shoulders, hung heavy with its burden. two hares lay within—one a muted brown, its fur still pristine save for the faint sheen of moonflower poison sprinkled over it, and the other intended to fill her own belly when the night grew longer.

the meadow was silent save for the occasional rustle of the wind and the soft chirp of insects. her gaze swept over the open field, sharp and unwavering, seeking any sign of movement. she had heard whispers, rumors of witches who wandered these parts under the cover of darkness, their steps as silent as shadows.

she stayed still as stone, her breath shallow, her legs aching from the crouched position she held. still, she did not move, her resolve ironclad. every flick of her ears and shift of her lavender eyes held purpose. tonight, she would wait for her prey—an encounter with a witch, a sliver of hope she clung to as tightly as the straps of her sac.

time stretched thin, and the weight of soto's expectations pressed down upon her. she would not fail. not again. the poison-laced hare was her lure, and she was the hunter. tonight, she would succeed, or she would die trying.

She’d bolted, lungs burning with the effort, limbs leadened with the force of strides. The pace alone taxed the coy sorely, to say nothing of starving pains which poisoned her chest and belly with hot acid. She knew she was close now, only another day off when the snow gusts ceded to frost and land grew hard.

Stopping was dangerous. Stopping was too agonizing, because when she did it was Khusobek’s ice eyes she saw fading into nothing. Then the slow withering of violets.

But exhaustion finally overwhelmed her pain and when she could no longer pillar another step, Eset collapsed at the banks of a small pond and filled her empty belly with water.

saya stilled in the shadows, the brush parting just enough to allow her a glimpse of the petite figure by the pond. the woman's ragged breaths were audible even from a distance, her slight frame heaving as though she had fled death itself. perhaps she had.

saya’s gaze narrowed, assessing every detail of the coyote-blooded woman. weak, desperate, worn—but not without potential. perfect.

the moss wrappings on her thighs came away in measured movements, deliberate and slow, revealing the healing scars beneath. no hint of her own exhaustion would show, though her wounds could speak for itself. she adjusted her pelt sack, the weight of the rabbits within pulling lightly against her shoulder as she emerged, the image of an angelic wanderer. soft, inviting.

you look exhausted, saya cooed, her tone sweet as honey. she stepped closer, careful not to loom too large, letting her soft, doe-like eyes meet the woman's. let me help you. i have food,—whatever you need.

the lightest tilt of her head, a practiced smile curling her lips. i only ask that you allow me to sit with you. it’s so lonely out here, don't you think?

The copper ridge spikes with dread, there is no time to find defense against a wolf,  as spent and vulnerable she is, like a tracked doe fallen in the open glen. When a woman’s voice splits the field the coy visibly loosens. She watches the flaxen stranger closely, nose pulsing between heavy heaves of chest, the tongue that lolled wetting with slaver. She had not eaten in days and the swashing groans of her watered belly said as much.

Eset had nothing to offer in the way of company. She draws her dusted legs up into her chest, exhaustion mingling with gratitude upon the pointed face.

“Thank you,” her voice is raw, she could think to say little else. A desperate thing.

saya tilted her head, a sweet, disarming hum slipping from her lips as her lavender eyes softened in the low light. she moved slowly, deliberately, her steps carefully calculated to avoid startling the coyote-like woman any further.

you look like you’ve been running for days, she murmured, her voice laced with a gentle concern. and not for fun, i imagine.

from the satchel slung at her side, she withdrew the hare—just the right one—and nudged it forward with a practiced elegance. her movements carried no threat, only a subtle allure, a charm woven through her every gesture.

here, for you, saya said, her tone as light and pleasant as birdsong. you’ll need your strength. certainly.

she stepped back slightly, giving the woman space, though her lavender gaze lingered, gauging every reaction. what’s your name? mine's s-sontana. she asked softly, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. her sister's name rang off her tongue too familiarly. too easily.

Hare-scent tempts her nose. The coy finds herself nodding with little thought, “I have to get home to Muat-riya.” Her voice is more wheeze than words as she eyes the kill.

No sooner had the woman grounded the hare than Eset seized it greedily within her jaws, forepaws gripping the carcass while incisors stripped fur and skin off muscle. She tore and gulped and when the meal was near over she squandered no part, tongue darting between bone to draw out yellowed marrow.

Long had Toula and her palaces kept the coy fed, she had forgotten how hunger transformed even the most civil of wolves.

“Thank you, Sontana,” she speaks at last, feeling warmed and full and turning her head to finally grant proper acknowledgment of the generous stranger. “I have eaten very little for weeks. I am Eset. Are you traveling alone as well?”

saya's eyes lingered on eset as she devoured the hare with a voracious hunger. she kept her expression soft, kind, her lips curled into a gentle smile. her voice was smooth as silk when she finally spoke, eset, it is good to meet you. her head tipped slightly, her tone laced with the perfect amount of warmth. yes, i travel alone. it's not always easy, is it?

she gestured lightly to the faint scars and still-healing wounds along her thighs, her gaze dropping to them for a moment before meeting eset's once more. i have endured my share of hardships on this journey. it leaves its mark. she sighed, the sound soft, almost wistful, as though reflecting on some distant, painful memory. a flash of the white coy.

but sometimes, meeting another soul like yours makes it worth it. her eyes glimmered faintly in the low light, and her smile deepened, just a touch. i hope this meal helps restore your strength. the roads can be unkind to those who wander them alone.

“Thank you,” a genuine warmth touches Eset’s eyes as the final remains of prairie hare are cleared away from her lips, unknowingly playing right into the widow’s web.

She follows Sontana’s gaze to the red skin of her newly abraded legs, wondering what sort of creature had seen fit to leave their mark. “Try milkweed for the inflammation. Little orange flower… I… I’m certain there are… some growing… around… here.”

The meal sat heavy in her belly, deadening her limbs, and suddenly keeping her head upright is too great an effort.

“Sorry, I…. I’m suddenly quite… tired…” Eset manages to say, easing her chin to rest atop her paws. A sensation tingles over her cheeks and she is too fatigued to even itch it.

as the sunset dwindled and darkness crept closer, saya’s amber eyes flickered with something colder than the sun's fading light. she watched as eset’s breathing slowed, each exhale steady, heavy, pulling her deeper into slumber.

the witch, she murmured under her breath, a chilling note slipping free into the still night. her words were as soft as the wind’s whisper, but they held the edge of a blade. 

once silence fully embraced them, saya moved with quiet precision. from her makeshift sack, she withdrew the twisted, lifeless roots she had hidden there, their dark tendrils like the fingers of a curse. setting them aside, she turned her attention to eset.

her lithe form crouched low as she worked. lifting the sleeping woman with a strength that belied her slender frame, she hauled eset’s body onto her own. the weight was nothing compared to the burdens saya had carried before—this was simply another means to an end.

the darkness watched, unjudging, as saya moved into it. her mind churned, schemes turning like clockwork behind a facade of calm. her voice, low and almost tender, murmured one last chilling sentiment to the still air:

dream sweetly, darling. the morning holds no mercy.

fade here? i'll start a new one in the basin ^^