Noctisardor Bypass trellis

It was funny how one minor misstep had derailed her plans by nearly a month now. Her leg was on the mend, and she had managed to scavenge just enough to stay alive. Sequoia was all but skin and bones when she returned to Rivenwood. Except it wasn’t Rivenwood anymore. No Laurel, no Druid, no Witch, no Jorunn. She had failed them, and she had nothing to show for it. Even her daughters had given up on her. Or something worse had happened. Merrick had come back for them all and raided the place while Sequoia was off trying to bring them hope.

She searched for any bodies, signs of a struggle, but she found none. That, at least, was hope that her daughters had made it out alive.

Sequoia found a warm spot to curl up and fell into a restless sleep.

cormorant felt the ghosts which haunted the bypass long before he ever crossed the faded remnants of its border. the air was heavy with history, a story he would never know. the drama and magic of a mystery always drew him in.

the darkling endore followed the winding path of a stream, pretty little head filled with fancy. he imagined who might have lived here, what might have driven them away. he didn't imagine that he would stumble across a living piece of the history he so desired to learn. when he first noticed the fresh scent among the stale, he thought he'd imagined it. but of course, he followed it anyway. the urge was too strong to resist, a compulsion; there was the chance it could be real, so why not take it?

and then he found her. pale, starving, alone. like a miracle. except for the fact that he wasn't a healer, or even a particularly good hunter. to help her would be a struggle, and if he didn't help her, how could he expect to hear her story? there was always a catch. but cormorant didn't think about all that; not for more than a minute, anyway. all his concerns passed him by entirely, and he found himself calling out to her.

hey, you need help? smooth.

How ironic it was that a man should happen upon her and ask if she needed help. Not one she knew, either. A complete stranger and likely somebody who would leave without a word like so many had done before. At least Druid, Laurel, and Witch had an excuse. Sequoia had not been around to hear them say goodbye. Mahler and Wylla had every chance, and they’d blown it. Maybe Sequoia should have left with them, but she had always put Laurel first. She had loved her. But that was a story for another day.

Yes, she said. Her voice was raspy and fully unattractive. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of fresh food, and she pulled her leg close. She knew she would never walk like she had before.

But why would you help me?

why would you help me?

cormorant realized, a little too late, that he ought to have asked himself the same question. was it really just about hearing her story? instinct told him it wasn't, but when he tried to call forth another reason, he came up blank. he was selfish, he knew that better than anyone else. if this woman died right now, before he could say another word, he wouldn't mourn. not even for a moment.

but he wanted to help.

i can't answer that because i don't know. i'm not going to promise anything. but i want to help right now. take it or leave it, he'd meant the last part to sound harsh, but it came out more solemn; almost matter-of-fact. if she wasn't yet desperate enough to take the scrapings from the bottom of the do-gooder barrel, then they were both wasting their time here. cormorant didn't have any noble intentions to butter her up with; he'd always been sadly lacking in those.

He was honest, and for that, Sequoia was thankful. He was not pretending to be something he was not, as far as she could tell. If he wanted to take advantage of her (didn’t they always?), he had every opportunity to do so, and yet he had not. Perhaps there were good men in the world, though it would be a long time before Sequoia believed it.

I’m Sequoia. My leg was broken several weeks ago. I still can’t put weight on it. She wished that Mahler had taught her something, but she knew why he hadn’t. Why do that when he could have all these people dependent on him? What was he without patients? And once Wylla was back, he turned on all of them. Fucking men.