Totoka River no direction but a faith in her decision

hello stranger, can you tell us where you've been?
more importantly how ever did come to be here?

how indeed
what a thought

still reeling, she returned her concentration to her breath, moving rhythmically in order to maintain control.  the river she followed was winding, labyrinthine, the way her thoughts would be if she allowed them.  she would not.  could not, for if she were to succumb to them it would be the death of her.

but it had been miles and her body was begging her to stop.

she bent to its will, drawing herself to the riverside to take a drink.

bent at the river, a woman. a sharp and silvered thing at water's edge, quiet. so quiet. the spirits were all but silent as the listener was drawn into her orbit, receding with each step. alone, chimed a distant whisper, a reminder that the prophet had left their companions behind for the time being. the keeper lingered near, of that she was certain, and so the listener's confidence was unshaken. they approached, silent and watchful.

she did not realize how she had been denying her body's signals until she began to drink and was overcome by thirst.  she quenched herself until her belly just began to distend, then licked her lips and let out a strained sigh.  she did not know how far she was from where she had come.  would it be enough?


no!


she must not let herself think.  she drew in a breath, felt her energy drop down to the hara and her thoughts came to a halt.

it was then she became aware of a presence.  her eyes snapped to the figure; dark, a reflection of herself but not quite.  her breath stopped.

a flashback from a dream
two wolves, both the same being, locked in combat

the shadow came closer while the prophet simply watched.

abandoned! a naked feeling, bereft of the spirit-whispers the listener wore like a ghostly crown.

the woman watched, hazy reflections of the otherworld swimming in her eyes.

the listener lowered their head, a riot of ebony-bladed hackles on display. the scent of her lingered in the crisp air between them, untainted. silence lurked under the gentle murmur of the river, pierced by soft footfall.

you are alone, the listener observed in tones heavy with implication, steps tapering to a lingering halt, and said nothing more.

they were young.  it was the first thing that struck her and it did so like a dagger in her neck, for they were also sharp and disheveled.  the prophet let her gaze linger on the stranger, unafraid of their advance.

i am, she said.  the prophet's nose quivered momentarily.  you are not.

but what are you doing out here?

where is this?

in muted tones the pair conversed, their words painted in eerie starkness against a backdrop of silence and stormy skies. here is where land ends. where otherworld meets mortal world, the listener uttered, and the sky flashed, then shook as thunder tore through the air all around them. the air hummed, electric and smothering. slim dark muzzle tilted toward the earth, gaze intense and searching. why do you come to end of land? what is it you seek here, quiet one?

the wicked atmosphere gave her welcome relief from the onslaught of thoughts which threatened to bear relentlessly down upon her.  the stranger tells her she has arrived at the end of land and she is inclined to believe it.  

in the distance, almost too far away to be heard, the ocean gnashed and churned in anticipation of the oncoming storm.  she raised her nose to the sky to peer at the cloud cover as the dark-furred fiend lowered theirs to the ground.

i have nothing left, she answered flatly. the pointed silence that followed insinuated that she was unwilling to elaborate.

nothing. perhaps once, the listener had been the same; tethered to nothing and no one in mortal eyes, adrift in the world of flesh-and-blood suffering and fleeting labored pleasures. memories of such a time were lost to her now, for the essence of the void-priest had been far beyond their body. still, something stirred in the listener to hear this plight put so plainly. a wolf without kin was a solitary blade of grass, a single leaf fallen from a tree; incomplete. the listener lifted their head and spoke.

come. travel with druids. hear words of spirits and fate. walk with us, head tilted, intrigued. or leave. you choose. for choice was the fundamental blessing of mortality, was it not?

just as inevitability was the fundamental curse of godhood.

she used to think she knew something about fate.  she was no longer sure she knew anything at all.
but there was something fated about this, yes?  to be found here like this, by these people.  was this starting over?  or would it be more of the same?

golden light shines through the branches, a gentle breeze stirs the grass.

she wears a smile that reaches her eyes as she dances around another,

she brings her head back down and meets the gaze of the dark-furred youth.

i will come, she agrees, and though no relief crosses her features she feels some of the tension carried in her body release.  what will be required of me?  a follow-up question, like something that doesn't matter.

another follower gained as easily as the words were uttered, yet the listener knew this was only a budding beginning. the sprout of new life was precious, yes, but held none of the stability of the ancient gnarled trunk of a proud oak. she would tread carefully, and tend the faith of her acolytes closely.

especially this one. the silent one. the stormborn.

whatever you will give, the wolf of many names intoned. i am listener. prophet of druids. what will druids call you, stormborn?

whatever you will give.

she did not know what she had to offer, or if it would be valued here.  the way they spoke of spirits, fables, and fate made her think she might be more valuable than she first thought she might be.

i know medicine. more than that, i can teach your druids. how to move, how to breathe, how to feel. how not to feel.  a pause.
how not to think.  

the listener introduced themselves.  they wore a title, not a name, much like the woman she spoke to. you can call me what ever you like.  stormborn seemed fitting, for the drab and frore colors that frosted her body.  i was known as prophet, too.

medicine — and more, much more. the listener was pleased by what they heard, and at once hungered for this knowledge. you will teach me. druids will call you rasha, they beckoned, and in a fluid motion turned to lead rasha stormborn of the druids to mingle among her new brethren. you hear spirits? a foreign sort of companionship, yet the listener had known it might come to pass since the day the betrayer had spoken of her lineage.

you will teach me, the listener commanded.  this was not a large burden to ask for the promise of community.  prophet blinked slowly in response, like a cat might to a person, her silence an insinuated agreement as she fell behind her new companion.

when asked if she heard spirits, the alchemist — rasha — shook her head.  no.  but i do not deny them, either.  how else could certain things be explained?

not a kindred spirit, then — but a believer. wearily the listener wondered what sort of falsehoods they would find wrapped around this truth rasha carried. yet the stormborn had chosen to follow. there was promise in that.

above, the sky crackled and shifted and came alive with icy cloudburst. the listener paid no mind to the frigid fingers of water burrowing through their thin coat. spirits whisper to me, they explained. of fate. of what must be and what may be. of many faces of god.

rasha's coat was too thin to protect her against the icy daggers.  she prayed that there was shelter where they were going.  she lowered her head, ears cast to the side as she shot a dreary expression towards the sky.  the listener continued to speak about spirits.

it is always the same god, she says. with different names.  a pause, during which prophet is lost in either a memory or a dream.  she is changed when she speaks again.  may i ask what it is like, where you are taking me?  she's drawn back to the sensations in her body, where the cold was becoming a concern.  she could handle it until they made it somewhere, so long as somewhere had promised shelter.

it is always the same god, with different names. another unexpected snatch of truth from the stormborn. the listener was pleased with her find, and already considered the possibility of rasha's advancement within blackwater. her demeanor spoke of one well suited to the softer aspects of existence; in time, she would fill the gaps in her knowledge, and perhaps would prove herself capable of carrying out the duties of a speaker. but that was for the future. for now, the listener would watch rasha carefully.

druids shelter under trees tonight. we are few; only two others. boy and woman. tomorrow, we continue journey to seek home, she explained, perhaps covering more than rasha had asked of her in her attempt to interpret the question. or less. it mattered little; she would see soon enough, and whatever curiosities lingered would be satisfied.

sorry for the wait, i've been ill :(

under trees was not where she preferred to take cover, but she could not afford to deal in preferences at the moment.  she mulled over their numbers in her mind.  four wolves were better than one.  so long as she wasn't being escorted to her death, she believed she had made the right decision.  the rain continued to fall around and atop of them, and rasha continued to follow the shadow in silence, contented with her questioning for now.

their journey passed in silence, until the listener found morgana's scent trailing over the sands and it was time for introductions. overhead, clouds churned amid thundering heavens, and time flowed like the waves against the shore.

no need to apologize <3 fading here