Dragoncrest Cliffs i tell you someone will remember us

she and njord had brought @Haunt home.
erzulie could not cease herself from thinking that these stones had been such.
she had rarely left the side of the pale girl, daubing face and throat to keep moisture upon the skin. looking into the drawn young face, whispering snippets of old french songs from that never-forgotten quarter.
today she was not far, only silhouetted against the dying sun in the mouth of the den. her eyes were trained for once upon the sea, and erzulie breathed a silent prayer of relief.

Thank you for starting and sorry about this.

Every fiber of Haunt's broken body clung to life out of pure instinct. At first, she went through the limited motions because of the care being shown to her. Erzulie saw to it that she did not want for food or fresh water; that she did not have to live in her own mess; that the bedding beneath her softened the few movements she could make whenever Haunt found the strength to crawl.

But as the days blurred together, she began wishing for death. She barely moved. She refused to eat and turned away from water. Haunt no longer wanted to live, not like this. She would never recover use of her body. She would never hunt, never provide, never do anything meaningful again. She would only be a burden and a drain on Sapphique's resources. Haunt couldn't cope with the possibility of that miserable existence, though death did not come quickly as she hoped. Refusing care only compounded her suffering horribly.

"Erzzz...yie," Haunt rasped, speaking for the first time in days, her words slurred because the muscles on one side of her face were not only useless but atrophying now. She sounded like she felt: like a useless whelp. "Ki... me. Pea...z." She drew in a breath, tears hot in her eyes as she tried to get her tongue to enunciate better as she begged for mercy. "Ki...y me. P...y...eazzz."

<3

erzulie had not seen this before.
at first she had hoped it was only some terrible sickness that might be warded off by her store of herbs. but it had not changed things. it had not changed the way that haunt could not move or speak. 
whatever terrible fit had come upon the girl had remained there.
at the laboured words her eyes welled hot with tears and she lowered her muzzle to brush the girl's cheek. "ah, sweet girl,"' she sobbed. "you been t'rough too much."
it was not a choice she felt she could make alone. it was not a choice she wished to make at all. but haunt would not live if she was not tended each day. and she suffered.

"Pea..." she sobbed against Erzulie's own cheek, her warm breath ruffling the fur there. She hated to beg, nearly as much as she hated asking this of the most maternal she-wolf she'd ever met. But Haunt didn't want to linger here any longer, trapped inside a failing body and unable to derive any meaning from her own existence.

Her condition did not hurt her physically, though between it and her recent refusal of sustenance, Haunt felt weaker than ever. Nonetheless, she pushed her muzzle weakly toward Erzulie's, touching her nose to the corner of the Obsidian's eye. Her own yellow gaze bored into hers, noting the oxblood streaking the buttery yellow.

Please, Haunt whispered in her own head, where she remained fully articulate. It was maddening, maintaining all her mental and emotional faculties while unable to make her flesh cooperate. Please put me out of my misery. Please, Erzulie, please.

haunt asked for something that erzulie had never done and had never meant to do.
and yet she saw the rawness and the agony and the begging in the pupil that reflected her own tearstained face.
rosalyn was not here to ask, and the crush of haunt's suffering began to strangle her resolve.
erzulie pulled away and began to rummage gently until she held the careful scrapings of a black lichen she had been using to help with sleep and with the hopeful mending of haunt's limbs.
for a long while she only stared at the offering, and then slowly back toward haunt.
was this not her responsibility as a healer? her limbs felt frozen.
as if beyond her control, the obsidian's paws numbly organized the remainder into five small piles.
she held the first to haunt's mouth, followed by a press of the moss-sponge. "drink." the word cracked, and she picked up the second dose, offering it in the same way.
five swallows. five more for water.
one application of this lichen would bring a deep sleep. five would ensure haunt would not wake again.
hot tears scorched her own mouth.

Erzulie drew away from her and Haunt felt cold. She remained still and watchful as the Obsidian busied herself with rummaging through her stores. She produced some herbs, only to grow still herself and stare at them. They looked utterly innocuous to Haunt's unlearned eyes. Her nose twitched faintly when Erzulie went into motion again, sorting the plants into five distinct piles.

At first, she wanted to resist Erzulie's command. Was she denying Haunt's plea? Then, quite abruptly, it clicked. Of course the Obsidian wouldn't smother her or tear out her throat or any of violent ends Haunt had vaguely pictured. She would use her herbs to end Haunt's suffering.

Eyes finding Erzulie's again, the yearling stared into them as she did as she was told. Will this hurt? she wondered dimly, her own eyes glassy as she watched the tears coursing down her angel of mercy's cheekbones.

erzulie sniffed back tears and gathered haunt into her arms. she settled the back of the girl's head in the crook of one elbow, looking down at her face. the eyes pleaded, asked. "go on to sleep now, cher." a lump gathered in her throat.
behind her shoulders the sun descended and the ocean rolled against the high cliffs. 
"de loa be guidin' you now, haunt." erzulie's whisper was heavy and salt-soaked with her own grief. half a prayer and half a lament.
erzulie slid her voice into a song once more, buttery syllables that each came out carmelized in sorrow. and relief, selfishly, that she should be with one with the girl now. that she should be this bringer of death.
the song went on. the woman wept and rocked the yearling.

There were a lot of things Haunt wanted to say, things she wanted to do, lives she wanted to live. But once the herbs were administered and Erzulie gathered her in her arms, there was nothing left for the yearling to do but let her eyes slip shut and listen to the Obsidian's comforting croon.

As she felt herself being dragged under, Haunt's body and brain disagreed with how to respond. Her intact half began to jerk and twitch, as if fighting to stay awake, stay alive. Though she mentally begged for peace, her body struggled instinctively and there was little she could do to stop it.

This went on for a small eternity before the synapses began to subside. Haunt's body went totally slack and soon after, consciousness began to fade. Thank you... she thought dimly, her head lolling to rest against Erzulie's chest, cheek tucked up against her heartbeat and nose filled with her scent.

It would take some time yet—possibly even hours—before the ill-fated yearling drew her final breaths and grew still in Erzulie's arms. Long after her awareness faded to black, she would slip as noiselessly from this world as she had come into it.