Porcupine Ridge They managed to rob the New Sheoth palace vaults? Curious.

Maaaybe @Hex? :eyes:

The Anathema.

Wolfbones spread before her, the Blackwater girl listened closely to the faintest whispers of spirits heard as if from across a great distance. Her brother had once confessed that these things were never meant for her. The Anathema; such a hateful name bestowed by her creator.

Yet the doors had not closed themselves to her. A sliver of that dark light shone into the emptiness. She only needed to find a way to slip through the cracks.

Muskrat had informed him of the sisters' arrival, but he hadn't yet come across them until now. Emerging from the shadows, Hex paused at the sight of one of the strangest canids he'd ever seen, poring over an assortment of bones at her paws.

With a brief, quiet chuff to announce himself, he approached slowly, head slightly cocked at the goings-on here.

Odd she might look, but her activities did not. The resemblance to his explorations of within—what the spirits had urged him so strongly to do—was not lost on him.

Did she, too, find meaning in the echoes of flesh?

I'm Hex, he began, sitting a short distance away from where she had situated herself. Welcome to Shadow Ridge.

Hex. Seer. She remembered Muskrat's words well. Anathema glanced up from the bones, guarded but not so daring as to be hostile to her new leader. Still she wished they had stayed on the islands; isolated from the world to the end of their days.

Anathema, She offered, gaze returning to her collection of bones. The delicate length of spine and the sharp point of a rib had been easy enough to identify, but the smallest bone among the collection still escaped her. What could it have been?

These belonged to my mother.

Now they were hers. She wondered if her mother's spirit raged to see it — or if, in death, she had finally found some semblance of pride for her unwanted daughter.

Ah. My mother left us when we were young.

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. He could look abashed by the admission, but he remained stonefaced, staring down at the bones rather than meeting her gaze. Honestly, he was jealous that her dam had left her something tangible in remembrance—

Jakoul had left him nothing but vague, wispy memories.

The spirits tell me that truth is within, Hex remarked, shifting his weight slightly upon slender dark legs. I've found signs in guts. Do you find them in the bones?

And if so, will you teach me how?

So did mine.

I don't think she wanted me to have these, Anathema confessed softly, eyes never leaving the bones. But they chose me. They never spoke to my brother - and my sister, she hasn't tried at all.

Not signs so much as suggestions, she thought, but did not know how to explain it. Instead she pushed the smallest bone toward Hex to invite his inspection.

They tell me secrets. But sometimes I don't know what they mean.

The bones had spoken to her. Hex didn't know if Mae or Nicodem had ever shown a proclivity for the beyond—hell, he hadn't known them at all much beyond their names and basic forms. So he felt hand-picked among his litter just as she had.

Secrets.

Do you know what they say now? he gently pressed her, preparing himself for pushback. Matters such as these were personal; he did not expect nor want the things she kept close to the chest.

But if they could benefit the Ridge. . .

Do you know what they say now?

Her gaze fell to the bones, eyes searching for several long moments. The air felt shimmering around her, alive with the breeze — no, the trees were still, and it was the earth she felt shivering beneath her paws, or was it her, or the faintest whisperings from the shadows lengthening and melding into something like the sea was calling her back to the place where it all started back to the altar the islands the

skyrock.

Anathema gasped and began to retch — black, gritty bile from the blackwater depths of her self. It was over nearly as quickly as it began. She stared for a long moment at the crimsonblack splatters across the ground.

There's something I need to - to give you.

She reached out to gather the bones in a blind haste and turned, meaning to lead Hex now.

He found himself leaning closer, closer, waiting for her response—until her mouth spewed something awful and the Seer jumped back, golden eyes widening with horror at the ground between them. Dark, horrid bile, with the scent of blood rising—

Are you sick? Hex demanded, ignoring what she'd said before. She had shown him plenty. If a black-furred wolf could lose its color in fear, he'd be standing there blanched to the bone, gaunt and wraithlike.

I have to show you something.

"Is she sick?!" he asked the spirits, his mind's voice a desperate cry.

And all at once, the world seemed to shake and crumble at the prospect of sanctuary breached.

Sick.

Anathema paused to glance back, shrugged. I've always been sick, I think. The words were muffled by a mouthful of bones, so she set them down to regard him with idle curiosity. Her sickness had shaken him; it took a moment for her to puzzle out a reason.

It doesn't spread.

She gathered her bones back up and waited with an air of expectation. There was no time to be wasted. The bones had spoken, and wasn't that what Hex had asked for?

"It doesn't spread." 

The declaration did little to stave off his worry, but he tried to take her at her word. You're sure of it? Hex demanded quietly. Absolutely certain?

He was keen to know what tales her bones could tell—but the safety of Shadow Ridge came first.

I have seen disease rip through wolves like fangs through flesh, he explained. He was suddenly sick to his stomach, and clenched his teeth against the sensation of hot, acrid bile rising in his throat. Terrible, uncurable disease. I've lost those I loved. . .

Agrippa. He let out a breath on a sob, pushing down the panic.

Oh.

Anathema softened some, stepping closer; anxiety frayed her nerves all at once as Hex neared weeping, something she'd never known how to soothe. The old clicking of her childhood resurfaced in these moments. She struggled to stifle herself, but she couldn't, and clicked rapidly as she moved slowly toward him.

If he retreated from her, she wouldn't press.

Me too, Her voice was quiet, flat as it always was when she spoke of her family. Not the kind of sickness you can see. Diseases of the mind - quiet, so you never know it until they -

Ana swallowed hard.

Well, my sister isn't sick, anyway. Just me. Disease doesn't always spread. It doesn't always kill. Sometimes it just hurts.

Diseases of the mind.

Did he have that? The spirits called to him. But he was not yet dead. 

He could not purge the image of her vomiting up black bile—

As long as it is not catching, Hex replied, voice faint. I think I might have a disease of the mind, too. But show me your bones, please.

His golden eyes rested upon her bi-colored face. He pitied her. He pitied himself. Perhaps this was the meeting of two pitiful creatures, each wrestling with their own demons.