Ravensblood Forest of dancers and dreamers

At last, life had stilled for the resurgent little shewolf. A normative Olive would have abhorred such stagnancy, but this sense of stillness was simply divine. For hours upon hours the plump woman sprawled against the stone of her grotto, tucked away amongst the privacy of the sap-stained timbers. The red herring laid about much in the manner of a sleepy puppy, with each limb stretched to its fullest extent, taking up as much room as was possible for her petite body while she remained nothing more than limp flesh and bone. This ground, these stones, these beloved bleeding sentinels… they were her shelter, and nothing could touch her here: not Doe and her sickness, not the elk who murdered her husband but awoke another, not Arturo and his empty threats, not the Blackfeather Fuckers and their hateful intentions… nope, no one. Here, she was safe. Here, she was good.

Her senses began to slip back into the safety of this familiarity and Olive found the freedom to focus on the next task at hand: convalescing. The woman drifted in and out of a fevered sleep for some while after her return, spurred on by the swelling and healing of her injuries. Her body ached with any movement so she didn’t move at all, instead electing to let her body stitch itself back together without disturbance. Not only was her torn body a cause for concern; Olive worried immensely for the wellbeing of the lives growing within her, pushing out her belly in the sweetest of ways and still wracking her body with the most lovely of morning sicknesses. Olive had never experienced such horror and adrenaline as she did during her madcap dash past the bloodletted borders of Blackfeather Woods — and Olive wondered if such nadir had poisoned her womb, aversely affecting the lives held within.

But, all signs pointed towards a normal and healthy pregnancy! Olive had been assessed by healers, but her own instincts assuaged her anxiety and guilt somewhat. Her belly continued to round and Olive became amused with her changing body, which continued to change despite the prior emotional upheaval — and now, how incredible it was to create life, to be so closely intertwined in the earth’s circle of life! Olive felt guilt for her foolishness, yes, but she also felt consecration. She felt divine, godlike, the picture of femininity and perfumed with telling hormones. Her exterior was bruised and twisted, but her interior was as fecund as the earth beneath her feet and the forest that scraped the heavens. This was the way the universe worked, Olive recognized; though she was unable to harness the earth’s energies like some witch could, Olive could quite artfully read them and cogitate their patterns and whispers. Olive knew she was a part of something larger than herself.

Then, one day, she heard another howl at Teaghlaigh’s border and knew it was back to business as usual.

Olive pulled herself from the cold, slate flooring and moved towards the sound. Her body limped and creaked as her bones grinder against one another in a jaunty, slow pace — but Olive pushed through with a slight grit of her teeth. When Olive arrived at the borders [somewhat winded from her journey], she realized that Arturo had proceeded her. The Red Herring gave Arturo a sidelong glance, half expecting him to understand her delay and half hoping her Ceannasach would never speak of her shameful Blackfeather-inflicted wounds again. Looking upon the girl in the snow, Olive raised her head and stepped forward to question the stranger. For now, Olive would share this responsibility with Arturo; if he wished her to take over completely, then she would. If he wanted to take command, then she would let him.  As Arturo’s Red Herring, she worked entirely upon his whims and wishes.

“What’s your name, sweet girl?” Olive intoned kindly, standing carefully as not to place any weight upon her sprained back left paw.